


Restoration

by nan00k



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 85,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan00k/pseuds/nan00k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2004. Veidt's perfect world has begun to crumble, a need for heroes prompts a new generation of costumed adventurers, and suddenly, Rorschach realizes he isn't quite dead. Hurm. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Based off both the comic and the 2009 movie. I suggest being familiar with both before continuing. I've taken snippets from both to make this story work.
> 
> Yes, this is a "Fix-It" fic, where Rorschach does not die in Antarctica. Yes, the main cast is made up of OCs-some children even. But I have a plan for dear Rorschy and these kids that, hopefully, extends far beyond the reaches of mary-sues and OOC nonsense. Hopefully. (I blame it entirely on Dr. Manhattan.)
> 
> **Warnings** : AU storyline, Rorschach lives, city kids get spandex and Veidt's perfect world isn't perfect. Lots of violence, foul language (racial slurs!) and twisted psyches. Ugly poodles, too.  
>  **Disclaimer** : I do not own any of the original Watchmen characters, plot or ideas; they belong to DC Comics. Any unfamiliar terms, plot or characters do belong to me for the purpose of this fan fiction. Suck it, lawyers.

  


* * *

 

"Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. **Face the truth**."  
-Katherine Mansfield (1888 - 1923)

 

* * *

"Do it!"

A voice torn raw by cold and force. So full of anger--loss--pain--

Necessary. Know it is.

But why does it hurt?

Hear footsteps approach. Why bother?

Know its too late.

Eyes meeting eyes--last chances--hearts attempting to reconcile--

Impossible.

Suddenly, blue. Blue like the sky, the ocean--

His eyes.

Don't have to say it again.

Don't feel a thing.

Sent spiraling, spiraling

into light.

What an empty, empty light.

 

**0000000000**

For some reason, every so often, Audrey would wake up crying.

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter, in which you witness four out of five adolescents describe reasons to wear spandex and find out why Rorschach has a headache.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: A knowledge of the comic book ending is always a benefit here. Foul language ahoy.
> 
> Previous Warnings & Disclaimers

  


* * *

"The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so for them."

-Lois McMaster Bujold

* * *

When Jimmy Hollis cornered her in the lunchroom and asked her if she wanted to go see a movie that afternoon, the first words out of Audrey's mouth were, "no way." She didn't mean it to be mean, of course. It was just…it was Jimmy Hollis. Her friends were of no use, giggling like the mad schoolgirls they were at their lunch table, listening to the awkward conversation between a seventeen-year-old and eighteen-year-old.

For all of the things that Audrey had put herself through to become as tough as her father, none of them seemed to help her in social situations like these.

"I mean," she added quickly, adjusting the pile of books in her arms, her voice cracking just slightly, "you know, I have plans. I thought you said you had plans, too, Jim."

Jimmy, narrow and pale face, frail glasses and huge eyes in all, looked down at her, as if a deer caught in proverbial headlights. "Uh," he began unintelligently.

"Never mind," said Audrey, lowering her voice. She gave him a meaningful stare, hoping the girls wouldn't hear or see her. "Jim, Tammy wanted to meet this afternoon, remember?"

"Oh," he began, his voice catching. He straightened, suddenly as alert as she was, or at least trying to keep up. "Sure. Right."

Sure. Right. Audrey knew Jimmy was slow, but not stupid. He hadn't forgotten the meeting. He was the one who most adamantly supported it. Audrey counted on Jimmy for so many things, including that, and would never trade him for anyone else in the world to do what she relied on him to do.

She just didn't…want anything more.

"I'll see you later then," she said, louder, fresh with a smile. She reached out and gentle squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry, Jimmy."

"Ah, no problem," he said, pushing his glasses up marginally. He smiled back, his weaker than hers. "See you later."

He turned and half-ran, half-walked toward the exit. He pushed the doors open and sped into the hallway. The door swung shut and Audrey let out a low, tired sigh.

The sounds of the crowded lunchroom were no match for the shrill calls of her companions, who urged her to sit back down.

"Did he just ask you out again?" asked one, the blond bimbo whose nails scratched her skin as she pulled on her arm to sit.

Pushing her books away from her, Audrey laughed lightly, embarrassed. "Yeah," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"What did you say?" gasped another. They all erupted into giggles.

"What do you think?" countered Audrey, smirking.

They all knew the answer. That had not been the first time Jimmy Hollis made a fool of himself in front of them or Audrey. It was his own fault that he was mocked; Audrey had told him many times in the past to stay away like that.

"Ugh," said the most obnoxious and bitchy one. She shuddered and poked at her tofu-stuffed sandwich with a manicured finger. She made a disgusted face. "What a creep."

Piranhas, all of them. Beasts of the school, eating up all those too weak or slow to keep up with the current of social trends and etiquette. _God_ , she hated them.

They were necessary, she knew. Being normal, being socially accepted…she needed the cover more than anything else. The only other person she didn't need to hide from was Jimmy and so, she had to keep away. He wasn't willing to swim with the sharks, so he got left behind. His choice.

"He's such a dork. He's totally in love with you," laughed the tallest girl. Vanessa. Valerie? Audrey could never remember.

"I feel bad for him," Audrey giggled, throwing her hair back over her shoulder, smiling an almost-perfect smile, feeling utterly disgusted inside.

"He's not that bad," amended the one at the end of the table, trying to be the token nice one.

Audrey 'hmm'ed. "Nope. He's not bad at all," she agreed.

"Then why not just go out with him, even once?"

"Not my type," she replied, honest. She liked her men strong, like her father, who wouldn't hesitate or stutter.

Jimmy wasn't like that at all.

So, she spent her days, sitting and chatting and being near these awful people, wearing too much make-up, wearing her hair like a whore, rolling her skirt and stabbing backs all the day long—and loathed every moment of it. Fitting in with such a world was painful, but necessary. She had put three years of her life into cultivating her outward image, making a niche in a world she despised. And although she and Jimmy had been sure to calculate every thing into their plans and she was sure it would work, she could not dampen the tiny sliver of doubt that wormed its way into her heart whenever she had to endure the mindlessness of decadence.

For the rest of the day, she spent her time watching the clock as the seconds ticked away until freedom.

**0000000000**

Audrey Jackson was pretty and popular—something Jimmy knew deep in his heart that he could never have to call his own. For good reason, he knew. Audrey was only popular because she had to be; it was all an act. He followed a similar, yet opposite path: be the nobody, be the loser. It was a game they both played.

Outside of their act, Jimmy knew Audrey was sweet and accepting. He knew that she was his friend and cared a lot about him. They had only known each other for only three years, but had in those three years had formed a bond. They were both striving for the same goal and needed each other to do it. These acts they played…it was totally necessary.

It _was_ only an act, they reminded each other in the sanctity of each others' basement, as they worked on their real plans.

It didn't sting any less, though, when Audrey had to play the bitch or the whore and reject the morals her parents instilled in her. It hurt Jimmy not only because her indifference was directed his way, but also because he knew she hated it as much as he did.

Audrey was more like him than those other girls. Both had witnessed terrible things, things that should have been extinct. Or at least were treated as being extinct—rapes, murder, theft. There was no use watching the TVs for crime reports. All the reports were carefully stashed away, silenced by the Happiness Inquisition's happy reports about global peace. No, to bear witness, all Audrey or Jimmy had to do was walk down the street in their lovely New York town, down its alleyways, into its heart, where darkness lurked. Both shared the city's pain in a way that those people, these terribly normal people could not fathom—or would not fathom.

The others—Tamila, Cesar and Markus—had it so much easier. They were already out, free as the wind, of the teenage angst pit that was high school. They were free to work and sleep the day away only to have the nights with Audrey and Jimmy. The five of them were lucky to have found each other as it was. The separation during the day was necessary, but a pain.

Hiding in the men's room was the only chance Jimmy had to stop and breathe. Embarrassing himself in front of the Popularity Troupe was not rare. He just hated it when it was in front of Audrey. He liked her—a lot. A lot more than he knew he should. He couldn't blame himself; she was pretty and nice. They shared a similar goal—be better than the creeps they were forced to contend with everyday.

Jimmy stared into the mirror over the sink, glad that no one else was in there. A timid bookworm stared back and he scowled inside. How was it that in the face of such normalcy, he couldn't be strong? Why was the only time he could clench a fist and speak firmly was when no one else was there, at night, when he spoke with the others?

He could be strong. He was strong. But that was only when no one was looking, when there was no mirror and no miniscule boy looking back at him through spectacled eyes. The first night he discovered this new person, this powerful person, he had spent the darkness on the streets. Observing. Watching. Following a rumor that was often whispered—that people still behaved like they did twenty years ago—that sins did in fact still existed.

He had seen it then, on the very streets he passed on his way to school: crime. He watched a man suffer at the hands of a pickpocket. He watched a woman be harassed by young men on the streets. He had witnessed an old man be beaten by street thugs for just a handful of cash.

He was just about to go home when he ran into a scene that would not soon leave his mind: a woman being raped. Right. There. In the very city where his parents had moved to for the job opportunities, in the golden city, where peace had originated—Adrian Veidt's city.

It was that night that Jimmy had stopped watching and acted.

Staring into that mirror, Jimmy knew that the awkward teen staring back at him was not the true him. It was just a façade, one he created to face the lighter side of society, the normal one; his true face was the one that could stand the dark—and all the sin it coughed up.

He hated it here, in the city.

What an awful place.

It was too perfect, though. A city, full of filth and degradation, but the invisible kind. No one saw it until it happened to them—the violence, the poverty, the unhappiness. The world was covered in a white, opaque cloud; just underneath it, just below their eyes, lied a mass of ignored waste. No one wanted to think about it, though, so it didn't exist. Ever since the Event, the world had found peace in ignorance. It had focused all its efforts on a global community, thinking the ones closer to home were alright.

But the hate, the turmoil…it was still there. It was hidden away in the nooks and crannies of the cities, in this one in particular. It was there, but pushed under the carpets for another day's cleaners to worry about.

Logically, New York was the perfect place to start. The police could man the city by day, pretending it was all alright to report to the Happiness Inquisition, while at night, when the filth would come out, new protectors could emerge. Three years of planning and plotting and suddenly, Audrey and Jimmy could finally stop acting. At night, they could finally show their true colors. After all, this was a city that wasn't a stranger to the acts of vigilantes or heroism. It was where they had been _born_. They wouldn't be the first cleaners to walk the streets.

Jimmy smiled at his reflection, his façade, the thought filling him with a new strength to lift himself up and leave the bathroom.

Soon, a second wave would come and the city's darkness would finally see the light.

**0000000000**

"Fuck. Fuck this shit. Fucking hell!"

Tamila Hughes, leaning against the front of the 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo with a can of soda in hand, looked down with a disgusted look on her face. "You kiss your momma with that mouth?" she asked, sarcastic.

Covered with oil, Cesar Canal slid out from under the car and glared up at the dark woman. "Shut up," he growled. He slid back further and sat up. Grabbing a rag, he wiped the oil from his face, grumbling. "Damn flush. Dropped down right on top of me."

"Doesn't sound like it should do that," commented Tamila.

"No shit, Tam."

Cramped in Cesar's mother's garage, the two adults found it difficult to breathe let alone do anything productive. Tamila knew nothing of cars, which happened to be Cesar's other passion, and settled to observe the Hispanic young man work tediously on his "baby."

"Just give up on it," she said as he ducked back underneath the metal underbelly. "It's a piece of shit anyway."

"This is a classic!" cried Cesar, thoroughly insulted. "I practically sold my left testicle for this baby."

Tamila made a face. "It's rusting on practically every corner. What a waste of money."

"Says the girl who pays to have her hair spun into worms."

"Watch it, _hombre_ ," she snarled.

They were an odd couple, if one could even call them that. Markus was always working during the day, either at school or his job at the construction site. He was a diligent and hard worker who could multitask. Juggling classes and work, Markus still managed to meet them at night, at one of their homes, for a weekly or bi-weekly meeting. He was particularly close to the other older members of the group, Tamila and Cesar. His job took up a lot of time lately, but he enjoyed it. He offered a position to Cesar at his site, but he declined.

There would be plenty of those around for a while, if he ever changed his mind. Reconstruction was only halfway done.

Cesar, unlike his closest male friend, did not appreciate the long hours in the sun, digging up the earth for new seeds of construction over in Ground Zero, maybe finding bodies, and only getting a paycheck as a reward. He liked his job to have little surprise involved; he stuck to automobiles like his uncles and occasionally worked at his father's ammunition shop. Sales were down there, with the Regis Bill having been passed; it was illegal for non-police citizens to own guns while living in a city with a population over ten thousand. Business wasn't too bad, though, even with only honest business with the police force and under the table dealings with all those who didn't qualify. Not that Cesar liked the idea of selling guns to crooks; his father was the one who did it, often behind his back. There was little he could do except complain.

Tamila could have found work at the reconstruction sites herself; she was probably in better shape than Cesar. She stuck to more conventional routes, like the supermarket. Not going to get her into college, but enough to pay half the bill of her single mother's apartment they shared. Social security from her father paid the rest and she was content where she was. She didn't like the books that Audrey, Jimmy and Markus seemed to adore so much.

"So, where are we going tonight anyway?" asked Cesar absently as he tinkered with the mechanisms under the car. "Audrey's?"

"Jim's place," Tamila drawled, putting the soda can onto the table. "His parents are going out or something."

The wheels on the bench Cesar moved around on squealed as he popped his head back out to look up at her with a frown. "Why don't we just have it here?" demanded Cesar. It was almost never at his place, or Tamila's.

Tamila raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly. "Because you live with you mom still. And she's nosy."

Cesar scowled at her. "You live with your mom too," he countered.

"Yeah, but she's drunk off her ass all the time, so it doesn't matter."

Snorting, Cesar wheeled himself back under the car. Tamila sighed and leaned back again, picking up her soda can for another drink. Nothing much else was said for a while.

At two o'clock, Cesar called it quits and they two headed inside. Cesar's mother was sleeping, so they two quietly made their way out the front door. Nelson Avenue was almost empty up until 167th, where the two saw more pedestrians crossing the streets. There were a few cars, mostly those electric kinds spewed out by the government. Cesar's love for old cars was doomed; those gas-guzzlers were becoming extinct. The two waited at the light as these few cars sped past, off to who-knows-where.

The empty feeling on the streets made the world feel lonesome. The people were quiet as they walked by and off in the distance, a single dog was heard barking. The quiet was only there because the children were in school or inside. They weren't conditioned to silence or the morose atmosphere that had plagued their parents for so long. Markus, the oldest, had remembered the days when there had been so few children running around, the quiet lasted all hours of the day. It wasn't as though people were afraid to speak or make noise. It just wasn't the thing to do in a city that was as empty as it was. Too many buildings and streets with too few voices to fill them with.

Still, the two friends walked quickly. It was unnerving to walk even if they had grown up with it. Halfway there, they saw with some relief other people, noise-making ones. Their relief turned into disgust when they realized it was a large group of men coming down the sidewalk. Tamila and Cesar exchanged a quick glance, but moved over to the street side of the sidewalk. The men came closer, laughing loudly, dressed in leather and biker jeans. Tensely, the two passed the group. The sour scent of alcohol wafted by their noses and Tamila made a disgusted noise and face.

The men never noticed and kept going. Their laughter only barely penetrated the gray quiet over the street and soon, they were only a murmur in the background. Tamilia and Cesar moved back to walking side by side. Tamila was still wearing a dark look.

"What a joke," she said suddenly.

"Huh?" asked Cesar, looking up at her.

Tamila jerked her head backward at the departing group. "Those guys, I've seen them on the streets at night, mugging people who walk onto their turf. The Happiness Inquisition was going on yesterday about that," she said as they walked. She laughed bitterly. "Said they 'cleared up' the last of the gangs in New York. What the fuck are they doing? Nothing. Fucking liars."

"What pisses me off is that they just make shit up," added Cesar, nodding. "And no one contradicts them! Why?"

"Because they want to be happy, idiot," snapped Tamila angrily. "They like being lied to because they like the lies they're told."

Cesar scowled darkly. "Fucking morons."

They kept walking in a not at all uncomfortable silence as they took in what they passed. There were no beggars, no prostitutes or doomsday marchers. Those were things of the past—at least during the daylight hours. All they had to do was wait around until dark and peer down dark alleys. Cults cropped up all the time, prophesizing the end of times, doing extreme things that went unnoticed by the police. Whores and their pimps went walking the streets and always got customers. Any unlucky, unarmed soul who went walking past curfew, into the darken streets, faced the uncertainty of assault by those who chose that time of night to prey on the innocent—or not so innocent.

It was at that time of night that both Tamila and Cesar had come to realize after a four-year partnership, they flourished in the wake of ignored crimes.

They reached Tamila's apartment complex within the next few minutes on Sheridan Avenue. There was no one hanging around the perimeter, which was normal. All the young kids who used to live there moved on to their own places. Cesar called the building the "Retirement Home"—all that remained were old women and men too tired to move out of the city. More people were leaving every day from around the neighborhood, to live back in the cleaner sections of the city. It was ironic; ten years ago and this part of the city was the most populated area in the midst of a total wasteland. Now, it was evening out a bit; South Bronx was returning to the lower-middle grounds.

"Mom's home," said Tamila as they entered the front hall. An empty reception desk behind a dust and grime covered glass wall sat opposite of a wooden staircase. "She might be making dinner. I don't know."

"Mmm, I hope she does," replied Cesar.

Tamila lived three flights up. The two, although in shape, made loud, clumsy noises as they ascended.

"I just can't wait 'til we get out on the streets, man," Cesar said suddenly as they climbed the stairs, their feet clumping loudly on the rickety wood.

Tamila laughed dryly. "I know just where to go, too. Some dago crack-dealer was messing with my cousin last weekend," she said when they hit the landing. "Fucking bottom dwellers, man. I can't stand that shit."

Cesar rolled his eyes as she fished out her apartment key. "Save the melodrama for when we actually get our asses in gear and get organized enough to get onto the streets for real," he said.

"When do you think that is?" Tamila asked as she opened the door and pushed it open.

"Audrey said soon," answered Cesar. He perked up slightly at the smell of Mrs. Hughes' tuna casserole wafting through the air.

Tamila sighed heavily. "Soon can't come soon enough."

Smirking darkly, Cesar followed her inside. "True that, _chica_."

**0000000000**

There was no sky when he awoke. There was no ice, nor wind, nor biting cold. There was nothing beyond his eyes—just darkness. For a moment, he lay in peace, his tired body soaking in the suddenly non-movement of the still world he now existed it. Nothing hurt. Nothing buzzed with importance in the back of his mind.

As he lay still, thought gently eased its way back into his head. Nothing coherent. Just inklings of thoughts. He thought he should start with the basics—he had a name, didn't he? He thought, the sweet stillness making it difficult to do so, and eventually came up with one: Walter. Walter…Kovacs.

The name was sharp—something off. Not the right one. It was not the one he called himself. He called himself something else; he called himself—

Rorschach.

Abruptly, it hit him like a speeding train, thoughts spilling over each other like cattle at slaughter, fleeing condemnation, their grisly fate. He knew who he was—Rorschach Rorschach Rorschach—he knew he had seen and done things so very very wrong and that something even worse had been done unto himself—something he welcomed gladly when he remembered why it was done.

They had destroyed the world. Everything. Everything he had fought to protect—justice, oh justice—was over. Veidt…that man, that bastard—he had won. The others had given in—Silk Spectre, Nite Owl, his partner—given into an easier path to survive. Jon…Jon had betrayed their purpose as well. He had given in and took on that deathly silence. It would eat at them until they themselves faced their final fates. They had quit—for a second time.

He remembered what had happened. Rorschach had not given into compromise. He would not—could not—give in. Not take the easy way. Not give up on what was the right thing—to not remain quiet, to forfeit this manmade peace for justice. And he had paid the price—willingly.

Death, something he had been anticipating for years, had finally come to him in a way he never expected, but dearly wanted. He died for the right thing, the thing the others had given up on. They took silence in exchange for their souls. His soul was the only thing he had left; he would not give it to them, nor Veidt, nor the world of sins they had made for themselves through their years of mistakes.

And now he was dead. He couldn't remember much other than the cold and whiteness and Jon's ever-reaching hand. Blue light. A buzzing sound. The pained, refusing eyes of his friends as they allowed him to walk toward oblivion—a fate they were unwilling to share with him.

Death felt stranger than he anticipated. Sure, there was no physical pain or true sensations, but he was still conscious. He could feel his limbs down to the last digit. He felt his hair flatten onto his skull, after having been under his mask for so long. He could feel himself breathing, lifting and lowering his chest under his heavy coat. He felt the absence of his mask and the feel of cool air washing over his bare face. He felt. The only thing that added up was the darkness—

Then, it occurred to him that the reason he couldn't see anything was because his eyes were closed.

They felt unnaturally heavy to open, as though he had been sleeping for a long time. Slowly, he lifted the lids on his eyes and hissed when he met bright lights. He tried again, slowly.

A blue sky—an autumn sky—greeted his vision. Few clouds dotted its pristine image. Three birds flew by, looking strange from his position below. Suddenly, he realized he was lying on grass. His other hand clenched slowly, capturing the blades in a chokehold. Far away, he heard people— _people_ —milling about. Cars. Music. Life.

He was not dead.

Stiffly, he sat up, not pausing for the dizzying feeling that washed over him or the dots that flashed in front of his eyes. He looked down at himself, noting every last detail of his brown overcoat, his purple pinstriped pants and dirt brown shoes. In his lap lay his mask. His hands hovered in front of him, still gloved, still smelling of leather and old blood.

He _wasn't_ dead.

Panic was not the first thing to strike him; it never was. He would have been dead much sooner than this if it had. His mind surged with new vigor as he contemplated the situation. He was, from what it looked like, definitely not in Antarctica and undoubtedly in a city. He looked around. He was surrounded by trees, though he was lying in the center of a grassy field. A park. Hundreds of yards either way he saw a few park benches, people walking a neat path and the sounds of life grew louder. High rises loomed off in the distance. He could hear cars farther off and the telling-sounds of a thriving metropolis.

That was very, very, very odd.

Getting to his feet was a trial. He was disorientated, but managed to rise to his full height on wobbly knees. In his clenched hands survived his mask. He remembered taking it off. It felt strange…wrong to have it off. Rorschach fought the temptation to whip it back on; that might draw unnecessary attention before he even had the chance to reorientate himself.

His view standing up didn't get much better than lying down. There were people. No one paid him any attention, though. Joggers jogged down the manicured paths that bordered the field he had been lying in. No children—that could have possibly been due to it being the middle of the week. What time was it?

His hat was gone. Rorschach looked around slowly, knowing it was pointless to search for it. It had blown away in the harsh winds, flying off into the white wastelands. He was no where near there now, he knew as he surveyed the mostly deserted but still grassy and foliage filled area. It had to be early fall, which was slightly alarming considering the last time he checked, it had been winter, but all the trees here were red and gold. It was peaceful, but his heart raced. All he could think of now was that the outcome of Antarctica was unknown, Veidt could have possibly succeeded and he was definitely supposed to be dead.

But he wasn't and that was beginning to play havoc with his mind. It was as though he were missing a piece of a larger puzzle. The last thing he remembered—standing in front of Jon, waiting for death—was still fresh in his mind, as though it had just happened. There were no blank spots or missing parts. It was all one consecutive memory.

But where was he?

Standing in the center of that field was stupid and he berated himself for it; he was still wanted by the police, or at least during the last time he was near civilization. He didn't even know if he was in America. It looked like it, though.

He walked stiffly toward the path; the cool, soothing sensation of nothingness was fading fast. He was beginning to feel pain—pain from injuries he was sure he had received from his encounter with Veidt. That made no sense, if he were here, though. Had he really blacked out?

Rorschach reached the path and looked up and down it. Nothing seemed out of place. It was just a park. A very clean and well-kept park. It reminded of someone he didn't want to think of now. Gritting his teeth, he looked until he found what he had been looking for: a trashcan.

Attached to a green-painted bench, it sat on the path that was bordered by the field and thick foliage. Rorschach wordlessly walked toward the bench and the trashcan. There was no telling what would be inside said can, but if there was one thing to be said about cities, was that they threw away everything.

In the trashcan was garbage, as expected, but at the top of the pile was an old newspaper. It was recent, considering it wasn't too yellowed or wrinkled, but there was no telling how long it had been sitting there. Still, it was what he had been looking for. Rorschach reached down and pulled the pack of papers into his arms. The _New York Times_. Something uneasy flashed through him. New York. He was in the city…?

The area felt familiar enough to be New York City, with its city pull and aura, but there was no telling anything now. Glancing across the front cover, nothing interesting, other than some political issue in Afghanistan ( _what now?_ ) and the need for funds for a new hospital in Old Harlem ( _since when was it Old?)._ Rorschach's eyes went up to the corner where it listed the date.

_October 1, 2004_

Rorschach stared at the paper, the edges dog-eared from the wind. He stared and stared and the black and white remained the same. The black and white always remained the same.

Where in the world was he?

It indeed felt like New York and smelt like it. He caught whiffs of vendor-cooked hotdogs and gas exhaust wafting by in the air currents. He could hear thousands of sounds meshed into one background symphony of city life. Standing there, on the edge of the park, he could see the people walking on sidewalks, cars caught in eternal traffic alongside. It was New York.

But this was not _his_ New York. Not his city, which he had given his all for. This was a different one. New. Plainer. Lighter.

Lowering the paper, Rorschach looked around slowly, but was thinking madly. An explanation had to be held, or maybe not. The last he remembered…he shouldn't have been standing there. Jon…should have finished him, that day in 1985.

Now, apparently, it was 2004 and everything was changed. How did twenty years pass without him knowing, had he survived? He was wearing everything he had the day he 'died,' but that didn't mean amnesia was impossible. He looked down at himself calmly. It was too familiar. There were no blanks in his mind, save that of 'waking up' in a different place. He even recalled blanking out.

He had died. With the power that Jon had possessed…it was impossible to believe it had failed to do what its user had intended. But perhaps that's what it was—that this, whatever happened, was what had been intended. Death had not been the option chosen.

But what had?

The world didn't seem that different, but there were a few changes. Changes in fashion styles, hair styles, the cars…it was obvious he was in some future, where things seemed normal and unlike that of 1985. The changes were minute, but still there.

A part of him froze in icy realization. If this was the future…then Veidt's plans…they could have been accomplished. New York…should have been in ruins. But now it was fine. Did that mean Veidt's plans of paradise had succeeded? Were things…better now?

He had to go find more evidence, or a trail to follow. If it was truly twenty years since the last thing he remembered…there had to be proof. If Veidt really had gone through with his plans, he would find out the consequences.

Priorities had to be handled first, however. In the most human gesture he had made since the Comedian took his disgraceful tumble months—years—ago, Rorschach clutched his stomach, which nearly roared from its lack of nourishment.

Time to find some food.

He walked clumsily down the path, ignoring people he passed, including a young boy who grasped his impatient mother's hand and watched with him suspicious eyes, and made his way toward the exit of the park. The pristine park emptied onto an immaculate sidewalk, practically white. Rorschach felt naked without his mask on, but he knew it would draw unnecessary attention to himself. He could still be wanted, still be a criminal. He needed to be cool about this; he would finally take Daniel's advice and try not to—

Turning around to perhaps get a better look at the park he had left, Rorschach looked up. His stomach, once mildly aching, suddenly burned as acid was churned violently. Thought left his mind and his mouth became dry. Regardless of the strange people, the strange white world and the apparent sloped crater wall that had appeared behind him, Rorschach only focused on the single sign above. Held up by two posts that mimicked sentinels at a castle gate, it swung in a slight breeze. Its gold letters on purple painted wood mocked him silently and for the first time in many, many years, Walter Kovacs felt fear as he read:

_Welcome to Adrian Veidt Park_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TERMS  
> **  
>  **The Happiness Inquisition** – The nickname for the inspectors of the government who are sent in to examine any crimes committed within a large city. These can range from ordinary police detectives to FBI agents. They have earned this name from the rumor that they silence those who complain about crimes being committed when it would reflect badly on the government or the city by means of threat or force.
> 
>  **Regis Bill** – The legislative bill passed in 1987 that ordered the immediate lockdown on the selling, trading or dispersion of guns (of any kind) to anyone without a strict government-issued license, mostly namely law enforcers, within a city of more than ten thousand people.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter, in which Rorschach searches for clues, history is re-written, and Audrey tries to bring history back to life.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

" _In the end? Nothing ends, Adrian. Nothing ever ends."_

-Dr. Manhattan

* * *

At the end of 1985, the Soviets had pulled out of Afghanistan in response to the Event that had decimated the golden city of the United States and all the major economic and cultural centers around the globe. Fear overwhelmed all political disputes when the threat of the great blue doctor became top concern. For the first time in known history, humanity put aside its guns and its weapons in the hope of peace.

Reconstruction, courtesy of generous city benefactors, took place immediately. New York, like all the other cities, and its people were left in ruins, but with the hope sent by almost immediate aid, things were expected to get better. Other countries shared aid amongst the afflicted, and soon, a network of international support sprouted. New satellites were thrust into orbit in a joint effort between Soviet Russia and the United States in an effort to foresee any new attacks. A new relationship developed between the world's most unfriendly nations.

A voice of peace, Adiran Veidt, an ex-masked vigilante of pre-Event New York City turned billionaire philanthropist, stood out beyond all others in his attempts to reconstruct and make better the world. His donations to the City helped bring back life to an almost desolate Ground Zero. He personally extended olive branches to countries once thought untouchable with diplomacy—and his gestures were accepted. Instead of reigning over other peoples with its immense power, the proud United States was becoming the figurehead of global unity.

In 1990, although free of Soviet control, Afghanistan began to make waves in this growing blanket of harmony. When Vedit Enterprises began to stick its nose into worldwide issues and start to provide economic aid to impoverished countries, but to some countries, such as Afghanistan, this was a move against them and their ability to care for themselves. The then-president Veidt personally went to these nations in a placating gesture, assuring them that this movement of peace also included them. Agreements were reached, but that section of the Middle East began to become the only sour spot left in the civilized world.

American politics were changing radically. Adrian Veidt, America's figure of peace and justice, ran and successfully won the presidency between 1989 and 1993, resigning in a traditional way after two terms. America flourished under his command and peace continued to spread. The animosity in the East toward America's Golden Leader did not bother the international hero; Veidt continued to act as a diplomat and advisor to the government throughout the last decade, producing new inventions and policies that improved human life. Soon, that disastrous day in 1985 became a distant memory.

Finally, humanity had its world peace.

**0000000000**

First stop: library. History section, back wall. Recent, modern history. Two text books and a thin one written by an author he hadn't even heard of. Find a table, sit down and read about how the world has changed since the last time he opened his eyes.

Rorschach, having once been a budding scholar, found no trouble outlining the timeline of the last twenty years. Things had changed. Radically. Veidt…Veidt had more power than he had first dared to fear. He was worshipped like some sick version of a deity. He had held the presidency just a decade ago, but still held immense power in the government.

This city…it was clean. It was pure. Rorschach had wandered the streets, looking for signs of the old world. All he found were scattered collections of people, all content. Everything was white or gray. It was too bright. Like it was all just a dream.

But one could wake from a dream. Dreams were not permanent. They were illusions. Not real. And somewhere, beneath this dream, lurked reality. A dark reality.

Just by walking the pristine sidewalks, Rorschach could see that not all was idealistically perfect in Veidt's new world. He witnessed two pickpockets across the street. He witnessed a fierce argument between two motorists. Passing an apartment, he had heard a woman being slapped around by her partner on the floor above. The world was not perfect, not on its most bare level.

But yet…Rorschach gazed over the pages of the modern history book before him on the library table. They and the recent newspapers hailed this new decade as one of peace. They glorified peace and prosperity. War was almost extinct in all areas of the globe. Africa and the Middle East were still killing each other off, but that was being confronted by the major globe powers. The USSR was now Russia. The Wall was gone. Gorbachev and this new president (Bush something?) were close allies. Europe was consolidating its resources to form a European Union. Veidt's companies and its associates were piling resources into third world nations, like Africa and Mexico. Food was abundant. AIDS and cancer research were at all time highs; recent discoveries into the Doctor Manhattan technology were helping with that.

But that was at a global level. Rorschach had peered into local newspapers, which featured in the past neighborhood news. Those papers were focused the majority of the time on global issues now, but in the small sections still dedicated to New York City-specific news, there was nothing but praise for the police force and the reigning lack-of crime. Even criminals seemed to believe this.

The whole idea seemed preposterous. Even a doubled police force would not be able to handle the crime found in a city like New York. He would see for himself that night if their positive claims were true. He would walk the very streets he had twenty years—yesterday?—ago and look for crime. He knew he would find it too.

The other thing that bothered him was the _New Frontiersman_. Its old printing shop was gone. From what he could tell, it was out of business. That was disheartening. His journal had been sent there. If the newspaper had been closed, where was his journal? His only evidence of what life was like before Veidt's plan?

This world had changed dramatically. Rorschach left the small branch of the city library, feeling more and more paranoid. He didn't know why he was alive or what had happened to the others. Veidt had won and now, people seemed content.

But it wouldn't last. Rorschach gnashed his teeth together. Veidt had succeeded in fooling the world there was peace, but from what Rorschach could see now, it was only an over-optimistic and ignorant belief. Everyone thought they were in a perfect world now; but there was still crime. There was still violence on the streets. On a global level, yes, there was no war or political turmoil, save in the East. But the world was still rotting on its most internal levels. No one was complaining about it though.

Veidt had changed the world, but he had not changed humanity—or its appetite for violence.

As he walked up and down streets, taking in the new sights of New York, Rorschach knew that regardless of why he was there, New York still needed him.

He wanted more than anything to run up to every single person on that street, screaming the truth, let them know of their ignorance. As he stood on a street corner and watched face after face move in and out of a shockingly small current— _were there really that few people left?_ —he had the overwhelming urge to get in their faces and throw the truth at them. Make a scene, throw a fit, get the media involved. They had to know. The world…it had to know.

But as he stood on that street corner, in all its whitewashed perfected _glory_ , Rorschach could not bring himself to speak out. His eyes roved madly, eyeing the New Yorkers neurotically. No one recognized him; maybe with the mask on, but even still. No one was running in terror from the famed Walter Kovacs, escaped convict and murderous vigilante.

They had forgotten him. As simple as that. Any news reports about him had been undoubtedly swept aside by the news of the Event— _the world's new name for Veidt's treachery_ —leaving him in anonymity. It was as if he had been wiped from existence the moment he escaped from Sing Sing. It was unsettling; Veidt knew of what Manhattan had done to Rorschach. Veidt had been reassured of his destruction. That was the only reason, Rorschach realized, that Veidt made no fuss about people remembering his face. He, after all, was no longer a threat to his global Utopia.

Veidt really thought he was dead.

As Rorschach stood there, staring at the world gone wrong, he realized that that was amazingly… _good_.

He could work in anonymity once again. He would be able to do things like the old days, before the Keene Act, before all his allies had retired and left him to sort through the city's bilge alone. He would still be alone—alone more than ever—but the cops would not be seeking him. He could work in peace amongst the city's most sickening citizens.

Part of him wanted to scream and rant and deliver the truth to the world, but another part, the old Rorschach who had humored the advice of people like Daniel Dreiburg, made him fall silent every time a scream tingled in his throat. There were times to speak, his partner had once told him, and times to be silent.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or so they say.

Veidt wasn't even looking at the possibility of his survival, that much Rorschach knew. He was free to do as he pleased, and as much as he wanted nothing more than to reveal the greatest lie of all history, Rorschach had to approach this in a way that would not destroy his last, single opportunity. God was granting him an impossible chance to get to Veidt before said man, who had the world wrapped around his finger, knew he was coming.

He would have his moment. He just had to find the right time to speak. Veidt was currently in the middle of a mess over in Afghanistan. Once it deteriorated and became impossible, and the world looked upon Veidt with contempt and distrust, Rorschach would move. He would step up with evidence and let the world know just how its savior had failed it.

Rorschach had things to do in the meantime. Gather evidence. Gather witnesses. His journal remained somewhere out there. Pre-Event newspapers were placed in storage, he was told. Looking for the resting-place of the articles of the New Frontiersman would be the first stop. A quick stop to as many libraries as needed, first. As for witnesses, he would find Daniel and Laurie, if Veidt had allowed them to live. Manhattan wouldn't be welcomed on the planet anymore and he was long gone besides. The world would just have to deal with himself, Dan and Laurie.

Yes, this would work. The plan was perfect. All he had to do was find what he needed and wait. Wait for the perfect time to strike. Standing on the corner, Rorschach smirked out into nothing.

After twenty years of their time, he had returned, and while he would expose Veidt in time, Rorschach had a mission.

And whether the city liked it or not, its nocturnal guardian was back.

**0000000000**

Jimmy lived in Flushings, Queens. His parents had wanted to move back to Manhattan, where they had once lived way before he had been born, but Queens had agreed with them. Jimmy himself had grown up in Chicago. The change in atmosphere wasn't that much different, but it was cleaner in New York. Ironically.

Audrey, living the closest, was the first to arrive at his home. His parents had gone out to celebrate his father's recently published article in a bird-watching magazine that he often wrote for. Jimmy had only told them a few friends were scheduled to stop by.

Markus, Cesar and Tamila came by bus from their neighborhood and arrived shortly after Audrey. They often mocked the two Queens residents for their immaculate neighborhood. Jimmy had to agree; like Manhattan, Queens was often pictured for its clean streets, white sidewalks and overall friendly atmosphere.

All the TV crews had to do, however, was wait around until dark. Then, reclusive Chinese gangs came out and caused havoc on people who dared to walk the streets during that time.

"Soda's in the fridge and help yourself to the snack closet," announced Jimmy as he led the three into the living room, where Audrey was watching TV on the couch.

Cesar immediately veered off to the kitchen. Kicking off her shoes, Tamila leaped onto the gray sectional with a small cry. Audrey gasped and found herself being crushed by the taller woman. Tamila grinned down at the half-Asian girl.

"How's it going, squirt?" she asked, messing up Audrey's hair with her hand.

Audrey scowled and pushed Tamila off of her. "Get off, Tam," she warned, her voice wavering as though she was trying not to laugh.

Tall, dark and shaking with laughter, Markus sat down next to the tangled heap of the two women as they tried to sit up properly. "What's up, Audrey?" he asked, through his chuckles. His deep voice was soothing as well as the most mature out of all of theirs.

"Nothing," she replied calmly, shoving Tamila toward him. She laughed when Tamila came crashing back down on her in retaliation. "Get _off_!"

Jimmy, laughing, stood in front of them, turning off the TV. "Don't mean to ruin the fun, but I have no idea when my parents are going to be back," he said. "So, let's get this done."

Cesar, who had disappeared into the kitchen, reappeared with a bag of potato chips in one arm and a can of Pepsi in the other. "Right," he said, already eating. "Downstairs?"

"Right." Jimmy rolled his eyes as he pushed past Cesar. "Come on…"

Getting up from the couch turned into a race between Tamila and Audrey, who both ended up passing Jimmy and nearly tripping down the stairs. Ducking down to avoid hitting their heads on the overhanging ceiling, all three men stepped down into the semi-finished basement.

Jimmy's father was a journalist, but also an inventor of sorts. The basement was cement floored with more than half of the room dedicated to Mr. Hollis' workspace. Over the years, that space had become unofficially Jimmy's, who was more active in creating inventions than his father used to be. His mother controlled the remaining side of the room, with the traditional laundry-room type set up.

There was a beat-up old couch that divided the room into these sections. Tamila had apparently won the race down and was lying triumphantly across the sofa; Audrey had taken to just leaning against the side, frowning darkly.

"Better luck next time," offered Markus, grinning.

Audrey made an annoyed sound while Tamila just laughed. Sighing, Jimmy made his way over to his worktable while the others settled down in front of the couch (or on top of Tamila, in Cesar's case; he didn't seem to the mind the threat of the woman kicking him off). Bag of chips opened, Cesar and Tamila munched contentedly as they waited for Jimmy to speak. Audrey stood patiently and Markus moved up paralell to her. Eyes on him, Jimmy stood in front of the large work table with two large crates on top.

"Alright," he began, clapping his hands together, "I suppose you're wondering what this meeting is about."

"If this is another, 'wash your hands after fighting' or 'are you sure about doing this', meeting, I'll cut to the chase," interrupted Tamila dully. "Fine and yes."

Jimmy frowned. "No, this isn't about fighting, really," he said.

"It's a preparatory follow-up," announced Audrey. She walked over to Jimmy, both taking their places as joint-leaders. Jimmy nodded, allowing the much-better spoken woman to take over. Audrey looked at the other three who looked back, politely disinterested. "We've all been over the how's, the why's and the what's a million times. We could probably take to the streets formally tomorrow night."

"Yessss," hissed Cesar, through a mouthful of chips.

"But we won't," continued Audrey. Cesar groaned and smiling, Audrey shook her head. "Tempting, yes, but we still need to get some cosmetic works done, so to speak, before we can run around as Crimebusters."

"I'm almost done putting my costume together," Markus supplied, grinning.

Tamila shot him a wry smile. "Don't you mean, your mom's almost done?" she asked. Everyone except Markus laughed.

"I can't let her do it for me!" exclaimed Markus, frowning. "She'd get suspicious."

"I got Iyana to do it for me," replied Cesar, grinning contentedly. "She thinks it's for Halloween."

Jimmy smirked. "You're lucky you have a sister to do that for you," he said. "I have to plan sneaked trips down here to access the sewing machine. Mom would think I'd gone gay or something." The others snorted and started to laugh.

Audrey cleared her throat, getting their attentions. "Alright, we're getting costumes together," she said, looking at them all levelly. "Tonight's not for that."

"Right. Tonight is for research," added Jimmy. He reached back and patted the top of one of the crates, grinning. "Mask research."

Cesar and Tamila groaned, both disheartened. "Research what?" demanded Tamila.

"Don't you care about where this tradition came from?" asked Audrey, placing her hands on her hips, frowning mockingly.

Markus smirked and leaned against the stair railing. "So what, we're going to read up on the old Crimebusters?" he asked.

"And the Minutemen," added Jimmy, grabbing one of the crates. He walked over and dropped it with a loud bang in front of the couch. He nodded at it, smiling. "Why bother joining something without knowing its origins?"

"You're just doing this cause you're obsessed with books," snapped Cesar, bitter, gulping down soda.

Jimmy smiled cheekily. "Who ever heard of superheroes who were illiterate?"

Audrey sighed and grabbed the other crate. "In any case, it took Jimmy and I awhile to get these files together," she said, moving over the center, where the others began to converge. "We've got newspapers dating back fifty-some years and police records up until twenty-years ago."

Tamila and Cesar slid the floor and Markus, Jimmy and Audrey plunked themselves down around the crates. Hesitating at first, Markus grabbed a pack of withered-looking newspapers and Audrey snagged a photo album. The others awkwardly grabbed at the pile of papers, unsure of what exactly to seek.

"What are we really looking for?" asked Cesar, frowning as he picked up one of the stacks of newspapers.

"Inspiration," replied Audrey without even looking up at him. She sat back with the photo album and with it resting against her knees, she opened it.

Inside were laminated newspapers collected from various decades of the city's past. There were also photographs of people—people in costumes. It was heartening for them to see people—so much like themselves—succeeding at what they were attempting to do. The others took to file folders that held random collections of laminated photos and newspaper clippings. Jimmy had certainly put a lot of work into preserving the collection.

Tamila held up a black and white photograph of a woman in a 30s hairdo in front of some cops. "Slut," she declared.

Audrey burst out laughing and the others rolled their eyes. "That's the original Silk Spectre," replied Jimmy.

"Her top is totally see-through," said Tamila, motioning vaguely at the picture. She laughed, Audrey's giggling not helping. "I thought people were supposed to dress all conservatively in the 30s."

"You dress worse than she does," said Cesar, frowning at her. Tamila shot him a dirty look and the others laughed.

Chuckling, Cesar, his own folder in his lap open, took out a sheet of paper. A startled gasp escaped his lips and the others looked up in surprise. Cesar had a look of excitement and shock on his face.

"Dude, you got a copy of the Watchmen group photo?!" he exclaimed.

Jimmy grinned, smug, as Cesar held up a photocopied paper of the famous image. "Don't ask me where I had to dig to find that," he said, chuckling.

"That's awesome, man," said Markus, impressed. They all crowded around Cesar, looking at the photo with eager eyes. They gazed upon their faces, mesmerized. These were the real Watchmen…

"Doctor Manhattan's right there," said Markus, pointing at the obvious blue man to the left.

Audrey made a face, disgusted. Tamila and Cesar shared similar looks. Only Jimmy looked neutral as he looked at the non-human figure.

"He did so much for the world. Who would have thought he would turn on us?" he asked quietly, almost as if he were thinking back.

"He did a lot for America, not the world," corrected Markus. He gave the picture to Audrey. "He turned on the world."

Jimmy frowned. "Still. He didn't care about us. Why did he attack?"

Tamila sighed heavily and sat back. "We pissed him off, remember?" she asked. "Those reporters kept pissing him off and he went ape-shit."

"Hmm." Jimmy didn't look very convinced. "I still think something's off about that theory. He didn't feel attached to humanity, after all. Why bother killing any of us?"

"Don't think we could ask him the whole story," said Markus, chuckling.

"Who's this guy?" Audrey asked suddenly.

The others stopped and looked over at her. Audrey was sitting, holding the Watchmen photograph out in front of her with a surprised expression.

"Who?" asked Tamila, moving over to look at the photo.

"This guy on the end," replied Audrey, pointing at the man in the white and black mask. "With the mask and trench coat."

Tamila shrugged and Markus squinted at the man in question. "Never saw him before," he said, sounding intrigued.

Jimmy picked up a few newspapers and then held out one to her. "Says here his name is Rorschach," he said.

Audrey's eyes lit up. "That's Rorschach?" she asked, shocked. Everyone had heard of him, that infamous vigilante who had defied the Keene Act—and successfully made the world hate the Watchmen even more. He was legendary.

"According to this article," Jimmy continued, looking down at the faded newspaper, "he was like, the last vigilante to give up. He was still on the streets well after the Keene Act was passed." Jimmy laughed. "They're calling him the 'Terror of the Underworld' here."

"What happened to him?" asked Audrey, peering with interest at the picture.

Jimmy frowned. "I dunno."

The others helped to look through the other newspapers, but no one could find anything conclusive. Audrey was very intent to find out, though.

"Him, Nite Owl II and Silk Spectre are all MIAs," announced Tamila finally. She sat back, frowning. "Popular theory is they were killed in the Event."

Audrey frowned, thoughtful. "No…people saw Nite Owl II and Silk Spectre II after the event for a little while," she said, showing them an article from a post-Event newspaper. "Says here that they retired permanently at the government's request…they went into witness protection or something."

Markus looked at her questioningly. "But what about that other guy?" he asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't say," replied Audrey, now looking more and more confused. "How can they not mention him? He was the biggest vigilante topic pre-Event, and afterwards there's nothing? Not even an obituary?" She held up another newspaper, one with a mug shot of a rather ugly looking red-haired man. "They even arrested him right before the Event happened. His real name is Walter Kovacs."

Tamila snorted and made a face. "Ugly as shit," she chortled.

Audrey sent her a look, but turned back tot he papers. "Do you think there's a chance he's still alive?" she asked. "He'd only be about sixty or so." It was hard to imagine even Adrian Veidt, once Ozymandius, to be that old.

"Maybe," replied Jimmy. He didn't look as desperate to know as she did. He sent her a comforting smile, though. "There's no real way to find out."

"I'm going to look around, though," said Audrey, looking back at the papers.

"He was arrested, right?" asked Cesar, sounding a bit exasperated. "He died in the Event then. Sing Sing was totally wiped out."

"It says in this later article he escaped, though," Markus countered, holding up another paper. He arched his eyebrows, impressed as he read the paper. "With the help of his buddies, no less. Silk Spectre and Nite Owl."

"Dude's got skill," murmured Audrey, looking over the papers. "He was supposed to be super strong." She laughed. "Says here that it took six cops to bring him down!"

Tamila laughed. "He looks like a light weight."

"So does Audrey and she could take a guy my size," replied Cesar, laughing as well. He laughed again at Audrey's glare. "Hey, just saying. Looks can be deceiving an' all. None of these guys, save Dr. M, had super powers. They were just…ordinary people with fighting skills."

"Like us," said Markus, smirking.

Cesar smirked back. "Exactly."

"Remember that the next time I sprain your wrist," murmured Audrey, as she shuffled through some more papers.

Scowling, Cesar looked unhappy as their friends cracked up at his expense. "Sure," he said, sarcastic.

"Why'd you want to find out about Rorschach, 'drey?" asked Markus, quickly ending a soon-to-be argument. "He's the reason why we have a bad rep."

Audrey frowned, as if thinking of her answer. "If he's alive, he would be someone to try to get in contact with," she finally said, looking back down at the photograph. She smiled slightly. "I really…don't know what I'm doing with this group thing."

"You mean the new Crimebusters?" asked Jimmy, surprised. The others looked over at her, also shocked.

"Yeah," replied Audrey, uneasily. "I mean…I don't want to lead us into something we can't handle. If we could…get advice or something from someone from the original group…that would be good."

"We'll do fine," affirmed Jimmy, not sounding the least bit doubtful. "We have history to go back on for now. If we do find out anything about this Rorschach guy, then I'm sure its something we can look into later."

"You're right," Audrey said, nodding. She couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed at the lack of information present, however. This had looked like a promising lead.

Tamila reached over and poked Audrey's leg. "You're doing fine, Audrey," she said, smiling gently.

Audrey smiled at her best friend. "Thanks, Tam," she said.

The next twenty minutes of searching resulted in nothing much else. Tamila got a blast out of a tabloid snapshot of Dr. Manhattan walking around naked—poorly attempted censor block and all. Jimmy tried to point out all of the important things in their researching these files—such as the background on the previous heroes and what became of them, and why—but by the time they got through half of the newspapers, the repetive black and white began to take its toll on their adolescent minds.

"Are we done yet?" moaned Cesar after depositing another barely read paper into the "done" pile. His bag of chips were long-since empty.

"I've got a paper-cut," chimed in Tamila.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, let's take a break," he said, putting down his own paper. Audrey smirked and put down her own.

"How about we get something to eat?" offered Markus. "We've been down here awhile."

A joyful yelp from Cesar startled them as he threw his arms up in the air and jumped to his feet. "Let's order pizza!" he exclaimed, already running full speed up the stairs.

Jimmy sighed. "Alright," he said, cracking a smile.

"You put olives on it, and I'll kick your ass!" shouted Tamila, jumping to her feet and charging after Cesar. "You hear me?!"

Markus and Audrey started to laugh. "Let's go," said Markus, helping her off the group. "We've read pretty much all of it."

"Yeah," replied Audrey, placing an armful of papers onto the table as she, Markus and Jimmy cleaned up. "I think it helped."

"Makes us appreciate them as real people, if anything," Jimmy replied, smiling. He and Markus headed over to the stairs. "Well, let's go make sure Tam doesn't kill Cesar."

Markus and Audrey laughed again and Audrey placed the last of her papers in the pile. Just as she was about to pull away, the last paper, sticking out messily from Markus' pile, caught her eye. In the corner, there was a blurb of black ink, dated month after the Event, barely a headline. It was large enough to catch her attention, however.

_VIGILANTE'S JOURNAL FOUND; TELLS REAL STORY BEHIND DR. M ATTACK_

It didn't take her long to spot said--Vigilante's name: Rorschach.

"Journal?" she repeated, surprised.

Audrey read the whole article, which briefly described how the supposed journal by the infamous vigilante, Rorschach, had been given to the New Frontiersman by the masked man himself. The journal was full of lunacy and conspiracy theories, of course, but it was still written, according to this article, by Rorschach.

Something flickered in her chest. Audrey re-read the article, mesmerized. This was talking about a first-hand account, by a masked-hero, during his years as a masked-hero. If this really existed…this journal would be exactly what she had hoped to find before. Mason Hollis' book had been glazed over. Knowing this Rorschach guy's habits, his journal wouldn't be. It would be the real stuff, in ink.

Perfect.

Jimmy had gotten these newspapers at the city library, which held a lot of pre-Event articles. If the New Frontiersman dumped its archives there when it had gone bankrupt, they may have dumped the book as well. It could be just sitting there on a shelf, just waiting to be read…

"Hey, Audrey?" called Jimmy from the stairs. "You coming?"

Audrey nodded stiffly. "Uh, sure, coming," she said, stuffing the paper into the pile randomly. Biting her lip, she stopped herself from saying anything about it to her friends.

This could be a hoax, she reminded herself. She was already feeling guilty about riling them all up with this hero idealism. Besides, Rorschach wasn't the most liked of the masks. He was the bad kind, the kind that had turned the world against them. Markus especially would disapprove of her even researching the fanatic's journal. It wouldn't hurt to look, but it would hurt to make a big deal about this guy.

Her search would be in secret, at least until she got her hands on the book.

"Audrey?" called Tamila, farther up.

"Coming!" she replied, hurrying upstairs, pretending to be hungry, her mind a million miles away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/Ns:  
> -I apologize for screwing up history. I'm terrible with modern history.  
> -Please note that Audrey is NOT idolizing Rorschach. If anything, all she wants is his journal. :\ I despise Rorschach/OC shit. That stuff is WRONG. (No offense; I like sticking to canon as much as possible.)  
> -I apologize for my lack of knowledge concerning New York; I've only been there twice.  
> -Where the hell is Veidt? Don't worry; he's coming. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three, in which Jimmy and Cesar make a startling discovery, Jimmy's parents are finally revealed and Sally Jupiter gets an unwanted visitor.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"The first rule in keeping secrets is _nothing on paper_."

-Thomas Powers

* * *

.

Jimmy's father had once made Jimmy a hover-scooter for his birthday. At the time, it was the best gift ever and Jimmy never let the toy out of his sights. But that was nearly ten years ago, and unfortunately, he outgrew the machine. He wasn't about to let his father build him another, considering how much work went into making it, so he placed it into storage for safe keeping. It had stayed there for a while, and when they had moved to New York, it had found a home at their storage unit along the river, where his father kept most of his larger inventions that really had no use. Sandra Hollis was not keen on keeping clutter around, so most of the machines that had come from Sam Hollis' workshop ended there.

Mentioning the hover-scooter to Audrey and Cesar one day had resulted in Jimmy being the center of a new scheme devised by their leader. If he could somehow make the scooter bigger—and make more of them—they could use them in their crime fighting. It reminded them all of better days of crime fighting, where gadgets were plenty. Jimmy wasn't too keen on using a machine his father could easily identify, but had faith in his own ability to modify it. Cesar and the others were totally game for it.

So, that was why he and Cesar took the subway to the end of Queens along Jamaica Bay that Saturday morning. There, his father rented a large warehouse-like storage room where the Hollis family dumped unneeded or unwanted inventions. Audrey claimed she was researching that day at the library and couldn't go with them. Jimmy had a hunch she was still looking for Rorschach. She had been obsessing over the journal for nearly a week; she had tried to keep it quiet, but reading people was Jimmy's specialty. He let her work and focused on his own job.

The two young men exchanged small talk as they were permitted entrance by the site's on-duty guard and passed through the fenced in area. It was secure, if anything.

"We gonna find like robots or something in there?" joked Cesar as they reached the Hollis' cement unit.

Unlocking the door instead of the larger garage door, Jimmy snorted. "Nah. Just boxes."

He was right. All that stood inside the moderately large room were wooden crates and cardboard boxes. All of them were filled with failed experiments, extra tools, and on occasion, Sandra's extra clothing or possessions. There was still plenty of room toward the back for anything Jimmy's inventing came up with. He had little time as of late to do any tinkering, but the space had potential.

"Where it at, man?" asked Cesar, gazing around the room, undaunted by the boxes.

"I have no clue," replied Jimmy, looking around. "It's been forever since I last saw it."

Cesar groaned. "We're gonna be here all day!" he complained.

"Quit whining, you're the one who offered to come. Just look for things that say 'Jimmy's,'" replied Jimmy, already looking around.

It didn't take long for either man to realize there was a lot of junk in the unit. Boxes of spare parts and failed inventions littered the floor. Only some of the boxes were labeled and Jimmy had to make some quick guesses about their contents. The scooter was being elusive.

"How much shit does your dad make, man?" complained Cesar after they moved the fifth box of 'miscellaneous wires' out of their way.

Jimmy laughed as he moved a few boxes to the side. "He used to make a lot of stuff for fun. Not that much lately," he said. "No time."

"And Dr. Frankenstein hands over his lab to Frankenstein Jr.," added Cesar, mockingly. "I love this story."

Jimmy scowled and Cesar just laughed. They kept searching the room for a while, coming up with nothing. They had worked themselves into the back, but there were a lot of larger crates in the way. With a grunt, they lowered themselves to the floor to try to see what lay on the other side of the larger crates. There was no use moving something they could avoid moving.

"I think I see it," Cesar grunted, reaching past the box he was in front of, but was unable to reach whatever he was aiming to grab. "Shit. It's behind this big crate here."

"Damn, I was afraid of that." Jimmy sighed. They both stood up. "Alright, let's move the crate. Careful, it's a TV. It's like, three hundred pounds."

" _Bah_ , that's no problem," Cesar said with a grin. He moved over to the side. "You push, I pull."

Jimmy and Cesar worked together to move the big crate. Jimmy hadn't been lying; the box and its content weighed a ton. They only managed to get it halfway to the side when they both had to stop for a moment.

"Shit, man!" cursed Cesar, a bit angry. "What kind of fuckin' TV is this?"

"Dad's kind. All the bells and whistles," said Jimmy, smiling.

"Fuck those bells, man. Fuck."

Jimmy chuckled and got back up. They could reach the crate now, which clearly said, "Scooter", on the side of it. Mission accomplished.

"Damn, man…look at this."

Jimmy looked over and saw Cesar looking down at the floor. Frowning, Jimmy looked down. To his surprise, there was a metal cover where the television had been sitting.

"Is that a manhole cover?" asked Cesar, confused.

Jimmy frowned. "Nah, it can't be. They can't build something over one of those." That was illegal and while this was New York, this place looked pretty clean.

"Move this out of the way," said Cesar, referring to the crate they only halfway moved.

"No way, man, we can reach the scooter from here."

"Come on, let's see what this thing is," Cesar said.

With a groan, Jimmy hunched and pushed the crate again. The two young men, with great difficulty, pushed the crate all the way clear of the manhole.

Exhausted, the two moved around and looked down at the metal top. Jimmy was immediately put off by its appearance. It was a rounded square shape. It also had a latch on the top to pull it up. If it was a manhole, it wasn't one he was used to seeing.

"It's just a manhole," said Cesar, as if disappointed.

"Dude, that's not a manhole," said Jimmy, surprised.

Cesar crouched and looked at the square metal hatch. "Looks like some kind of…I don't know, port?" he said, looking up at his friend.

Shrugging, Jimmy crouched down and ran his hands over the metal top. It wasn't sealed, as far as he could figure, but it had been hidden for a reason. His father had always insisted on keeping the TV there. Hiding what lay below, it seemed.

"Let's take a look," he said, grinning up at his friend.

Cesar sent Jimmy an alarmed look. "In the fuckin' sewers?" he demanded loudly.

Jimmy scowled. "What are you, a girl?" he demanded.

If anyone else had told Cesar that, they would have gotten punched square in the face. However, because Jimmy had said the insult, it was more than just an insult. It was an attack on his pride; after all, Cesar was the one who mocked Jimmy's masculinity all the time. He wouldn't be able to live with an insult like that from him. Jimmy knew which buttons to push when it came to Cesar's ego.

Standing, Cesar glaring down at him. "Alright, let's fucking go," he said, as if it were his idea.

Smirking, Jimmy bent down and grabbed the handle attached to the metal square. It was encrusted with grime and years of misuse, but it lifted smoothly. It was decently heavy, but not too much so. As it lifted, Jimmy hesitated. On the top, he could now make out a carved symbol he had missed in the dust. A rough, but still very clear crescent moon was etched into the metal, like some kind of company logo.

That was…weird.

He shoved the heavy cover to the side with a grunt. Cesar bent down and they both looked down into the hole. It was dark, but the light from their room made the way down visible. There was a flat surface way below that looked too much like sidewalk to be part of old sewers or something.

"So not a manhole," Jimmy muttered.

"How far does it go?" asked Cesar, leaning over the hole, intrigued now.

"Not far." Jimmy could see the ground below, probably only ten to twenty feet down. "Maybe there's some light switches down there."

"Yeah, like the sewers got fluorescent lighting," snapped Cesar sarcastically.

Jimmy snorted and then moved over to start climbing down the ladder. He tested it gingerly; it held his weight with no problem. It was a bit rusty, but it was in pretty good condition. There were a few cobwebs, and farther off, he heard skittering. Rats. Great.

"Maybe it is the sewers," Jimmy said as he moved down the ladder quickly. Cesar climbed in after him, temporarily blocking the light.

"Why hide the entry then?"

"Maybe because he just didn't like the idea of the sewers opening up around his belongings?" offered Jimmy, chuckling.

"Ah, man, you're no fun. This is an adventure. _Una aventura_!"

Smirking, Jimmy felt like he was ten again, exploring the woods back in Chicago when he and his parents went on vacation at the lakes. They were barely woods at all, but to him, it was a jungle. This may have been the sewers, but it was still an adventure.

It was strange that his father would hide the manhole, in addition to carving the top of it. Maybe he hadn't carved the symbol, though, Jimmy reasoned. He sighed. A quick look would be enough. It was probably just a way into the sewers.

Above him, Cesar was still having fun with his adventure notion. "Dude, your dad is Batman," he said, cracking up, clearly pleased.

Jimmy shot him a dark look as he tentatively worked his way down the ladder. "Haha, funny," he muttered.

The bottom was brick and concrete. Jimmy dropped from the ladder and onto the platform below. It was all dark, save for the light filtering down from the manhole above. Cesar jumped down as Jimmy moved forward into the darkness, trying to see what lay ahead. It didn't smell like a sewer and that's what bothered Jimmy the most. It was too clean. Too unused by anyone.

"Seriously, what is this?" Cesar suddenly gasped and when Jimmy looked back, he could see his friend had taken on a look of enlightenment. "Oh shit, Jim. What if your dad is a mask?!"

Jimmy shot his friend a look. "My dad? Really?" he asked, sarcastic. His father was a journalist with a passion for _pigeons_. He was larger than Jimmy, but he was _way_ out of shape and overweight. There was just no way Sam Hollis was a mask. Ever.

Cesar hesitated. "Well…" he began, trying not to sound too ridiculous now that he had realized what he said. "Maybe…he's covering for one?"

"Maybe," conceded Jimmy, turning back around. That made more sense. His father did seem to have a lot of contacts in strange places. Perhaps his father had once financed or even helped Crimebusters in the past.

Or…perhaps a villain. Jimmy frowned. His father wasn't a coward, but he was certainly a pushover. He hoped that wasn't the case.

Cesar and Jimmy moved forward carefully in the darkness, feeling the walls for any kind of light switch. Just as Jimmy was about to tell his friend they should just come back later with flash lights, Cesar shouted.

"Shit! Fuck, man!"

Jimmy quickly stumbled forward, not knowing where Cesar was. "What happened?!"

"I fell down some fucking stairs!" shouted Cesar, pissed. His voice echoed and that caused both of them to pause.

Jimmy moved forward and suddenly touched a railing of some sort. Gingerly, he moved along the railing to the wall. On the wall was a box and what he hoped was a button. Carefully, he pressed the button and held his breath.

Above them, several rows of lights sprang to life. Cesar gasped and Jimmy jumped back, both squinting at the sudden light. They could see now easily the small set of stairs that they were standing on that separated the small hallway to the exit and the new room that they now faced.

"Oh shit, man," whispered Cesar, standing.

The room they were in was at least twenty by thirty feet wide. It was huge. There were tables and tarp covered objects everywhere. Dust had fallen onto everything like snow; there were practically drifts of it caked onto the tarps, dying everything in the room a disgusting brown color. It was like a secret lab someone had forgotten existed. On the far wall, there was a huge service port that must have led deep into the sewer systems of the city. It was facing the bay; it would lead right out there.

As Jimmy tried to peer ahead into the tunnel, he almost missed the large object obstructing his view, disregarding it for another stray piece of furniture. Cesar was paying attention to the massive object and stepped forward down the stairs, alarmed.

"What…is that?" he asked.

Snapping to attention, Jimmy's eyes went immediate to the large ovular object in the center of the room. It was covered with a dust-covered tarp, like all the rest of the objects in the room, but unlike the tables, this was not easily identifiable. It was not a table. Jimmy stared at it warily. He had no clue what it was. If this all did belong to his father, it certainly did not make any sense. This was…mask-stuff.

"Let's pull off the cover," he managed to say, swallowing hard. He moved around the object nervously and Cesar jogged over to the other side. With a grunt, Jimmy yanked on the one side and Cesar pulled on the other end. The dust-encrusted tarp fell obediently to the floor and they could get a good look at what lay underneath.

Old age and cobwebs did nothing to shield its identity now. Jimmy's mind went blank for a moment as he looked up at the revealed object. It was a craft of some sort, an old hovercraft. Two large windows made up the front where he stood. Looking in, he could see complex controls and two chairs. Standing in front of it, Jimmy was suddenly brought back to his childhood, where he would gaze up at his father's stuffed bird collections. The ship had the face of an owl.

It was…the Owlship.

Jimmy's jaw dropped unceremoniously and Cesar's eyes grew huge. For a moment, both young men just stared at the craft in silent shock. Jimmy felt his mind emit an audible, _eh_?

"Oh shit," Cesar began, moving back, eyes wide. " _Oh_ _shit_!"

Jimmy gaped at the ship before him, unable to speak.

"Holy fuck, Jimmy—what the shit?!" yelled Cesar, freaking out.

"Shut up, shut up," hissed Jimmy, his eyes roving everywhere. _Oh, shit…_

There was no mistake. He had seen pictures caught by lucky newspaper cameramen. The famed vigilante Nite Owl II had stunned the criminal world of the 70s with his fancy, but undeniably potent technological skills. His flying ship was one of the most well known icons of the last Crimebusters group.

What the fuck was it doing underneath his father's garage?

"Oh my god," he muttered, stepping away from it. He fell into a table and several items came clattering off the top, from under the tarp. He looked down and saw various tools…and familiar artifacts. Crescent moons. "Oh _shit_." He couldn't believe it. No way. No fucking way…

Cesar almost ran to his side of the ship, his eyes kept on the ship as though he was afraid the craft was about to come to life and eat him. He stumbled to Jimmy's side and both men looked each other in the eyes, terrified and awed. For a moment, there were no words to say. Cesar slowly shook his head.

"Jim, _dios_ ," he said, breathless. His eyes were huge. "Your dad…he's fucking Nite Owl."

"W-we don't know that," Jimmy stuttered. No way, there was no _way_!

"That's the fucking Owlship, man! Right there!" Cesar yelled, motioning wildly at the very identifiable aircraft next to them.

Jimmy tried to speak, but he couldn't think of anything to say. This was all too surreal.

"Dude, there's no way," he said weakly. His father…couldn't be a mask.

Cesar stepped closer. "Jim, man, you're being _loco_ ," he said, his voice shaking from excitement rather than disbelief. " _No estas pensando claramente_! This is the fuckin' Owlship and your dad totally fits the profile!"

"Are you crazy?! My dad is a fat pencil-pusher," Jimmy almost shouted, now growing panicked. "My mom flips shit if I get involved with fights. Why the fuck would she marry s-someone so violent?!"

Cesar stopped and a look of awe entered his expression, as if he had solved the universe's ultimate problem. "Dude," he began, amazed with himself, "your mom is hot."

" _Cesar_!"

"No, fuck that shit, man. What if she's the Silk Spectre?!"

Jimmy stopped and stared at his friend, aghast. His mother…a mask as well? She abhorred violence, or at least when it involved their family. She…she hated him talking about the masks; she called them "extinct."

Yet, she was always in shape. And was able to kick ass; he had witnessed this the time they had almost been mugged when he was still very young. She broke two guys' noses and one of their arms without breaking a sweat. He had just thought it had been the adrenaline. But she never seemed stressed about it later. If he recalled now, he could almost remember the smug look on her beautiful features as they finished talking with the police, as if she had just…done something…fun.

"Wh-what does any of that prove?!" he demanded, horrified with himself for beginning to believe this was even possible.

"He's obsessed with birds," Cesar said, adamant.

"A-a lot of people are," Jimmy tried to say.

Cesar made a rude sound and almost went to shake the younger man. "They don't have the fucking Owlship beneath their private storage unit along the water, man!" he yelled, hysterical.

"My mom hates violence," Jimmy stuttered, trying to back away, his head swimming.

"She's almost in as good as shape as Audrey, man," snapped Cesar, angry. "What the fuck is she thinking she needs muscles for man? Fuckin' grocery shopping?"

Jimmy sighed heavily and looked away, running his hand through his hair. This was crazy. Absolutely fucking nuts.

They stood there for a moment, trying to calm down and catch up on what was happening. Jimmy didn't know whether to feel scared or…what.

"We have to call the others," Cesar said finally, shaking his head.

Although he wanted nothing more but forget he found this secret lair, Jimmy knew Cesar was right. This was big. Huge. As much as it seemed impossible, if his parents had been members of the original Crimebusters, this was a missing piece to the puzzle their new group was trying to solve. It explained why the two last masks had disappeared.

Strangely, this made Jimmy feel scared as well as a bit proud.

"I just can't believe it," he whispered, looking up at the Owlship, shaking his head slowly. "They never…" Told him.

"They went into hiding. From the government or something," said Cesar, nodding up at the ship. He grinned, as if pleased by this whole thing. "They probably wanted to keep you in the dark, until, I don't know, maybe they put you through some dope initiation. Earn your wings." He cracked up at his own joke.

Jimmy scowled, not amused. "Not likely," he said quietly. His father and mother had never once said anything to him. He was almost eighteen and he was graduating high school that year. It seemed way too late to even…

His awe was turning into morose anger. Why had they kept quiet? Jimmy frowned and stared back at the Owlship. This was probably the biggest thing a mask could keep. Was it so secret that they never felt safe enough to tell their own son?

Why was it secret anyway?

"We should get back," he said stiffly. He reached over and grabbed the tarp. People hadn't been down here in a long time, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. "Let's grab the scooter and get the hell back. Help me with this."

Cesar obeyed, but as they struggled to pull the tarp back over, he kept talking. "When should we tell everyone?"

"Later," he said as they threw up their ends and managed to get it to slide on the other side.

"Like when, later?" demanded Cesar as he yanked the tarp back into its rightful place, minus the dust, which now danced above their heads in the poor lighting.

"I…want to talk to my parents first. I mean, try to figure stuff out." How the hell could he bring this up to his parents, anyway? _Oh, by the way dad, I found your secret Owl Cave in the sewers. Wanna talk about it?_

Cesar opened his mouth to argue, but closed it. "Your family secret, man," he said, a bit grumpy. He stood back and nodded at him. "We gotta tell the others first, though."

"I know," replied Jimmy, sighing heavily.

Smirking slightly, Cesar walked over and slapped Jimmy on the back. "Don't worry about it, man. We got your back if it goes bad."

Jimmy smirked back at his friend. "Thanks, Cesar."

" _Vamos_. Let's get going. This place is rank, man." Cesar and Jimmy hopped back onto the platform and onto the cement and brick floor. Jimmy hit the lights, sending the secret lair back into pitch-blackness. The thought of that ship's eyes leering at him from across the room made Jimmy shiver.

Cesar hoisted himself up onto the ladder and soon both were on their way up, toward the light. Jimmy was wrapped up in thought. He had no idea how to approach this. This was beyond weird and cool. His parents were, possibility, ex-Crimebusters. That was beyond amazing. That was…

Why didn't they tell him? Jimmy's stomach clenched. He felt strangely sickened.

"What if that Rorschach's your uncle or some shit?" Cesar suddenly said.

"Don't fucking _go_ there," snapped Jimmy, breaking out of his train of thought violently.

Cesar burst out laughing and lead the way to the surface with his loud chuckles. Jimmy quietly groaned and climbed the rickety ladder, dread growing in his stomach. Oh, yes, things could get worse. He just wished they wouldn't.

**0000000000**

Jimmy ditched Cesar on the subway, hoisting the scooter along with him up the stairs and up into New York's streets. He had to take a cab because of the scooter and arrived back at his house late. His father wasn't home yet. Hastily, Jimmy dumped the scooter into his garage and climbed up the stairs. The door was unlocked. He quickly kicked off his shoes into the pile by the door and jogged over to the kitchen.

Sandra Hollis was busy at the kitchen counter, throwing together one of her fancy salads. She was always trying out diets for her and Sam, her husband. He needed it more than she did, but she liked to eat healthy. She was always fussing about staying in shape.

Only now did that seem odd to Jimmy.

"Hey, mom!" he called upon entering the kitchen. He stopped, out of breath from mere nervousness, and grinned.

Sandra turned and smiled back. "Welcome back. Got what you wanted?" she asked as she diced up some lettuce on the cutting board.

Jimmy nodded and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. "Yup. The scooter's in the garage," he said. He had lied to his parents and simply told them that only Cesar wanted a model for himself. After finishing one in his own workspace, he'd duplicate it over at Cesar's garage.

"Good luck making it bigger," said Sandra, chuckling, as she turned back around. "I remember when your father made it for you when you were six. I told him it was too small for you to grow up with."

"Ah, I outgrew it in time. I'm just doing a favor for Cesar now," Jimmy replied, waving his hand.

"Well, I'm glad it worked out. Go wash up and wait for dinner," said Sandra, focusing on the food in front of her. "We'll eat when your dad gets home."

Jimmy murmured an affirmative, but stayed seated. He stared at the back of his mother's head, focused. His mother had always been there, raising him. She was a good mom. She loved him. But there were some things about her that weren't as secret as the Owl Cave.

Sandra didn't like the fact Jimmy wasn't as big as his father. Jimmy was in better shape, but Sandra always pointed out that he was shorter and trimmer. Back in their day, Sandra would say that Sam was built like a boxer. He was much tougher and stronger than Jimmy was.

She only said that because she wasn't aware of Jimmy's recent attempts to work out. He was working out and hid his muscles from his parents. It was part of his façade. He was still weak Jimmy to the normal world he interacted with.

But Jimmy couldn't help but feel a bit bitter. Those in school were unaware of his strength because he made them think he was weak. His parents thought he was weak because he had grown up weak. He was still the weakest of their family because he had been the weakest for so long. He didn't have to make up a façade for his mother, always critical of some aspect of his form.

Jimmy was, and he knew it, a book-kid. He always would be. His parents were proud of his grades and his father was happy he had developed an interest in technology like him, but his mother was still unhappy with his physical prowess. The day he brought home his first failing grade— _only_ in gym—had been the day he learned the truth, as it was etched into her face: she was disappointed in him. His father tried to assure him it was only because Sandra had grown up in a family of people who stressed physical perfection. It wasn't him, they told him, even though Jimmy knew it was.

But Sandra still loved him and he knew it. He was lucky, luckier than Cesar, whose dad left, than Tammy, whose dad was murdered on the streets, than Markus, whose dad was in jail, and Audrey, whose parents were always traveling. He loved his parents and they loved him.

But they had lied to him.

Jimmy stared at his mother as she worked and silently tried to convince himself it was just some terrible coincidence. He tried to imagine his mother fighting crime. It wasn't that strange, really, to imagine her fighting. It was just the fact she was his mother. No one's mother was a crime fighter. That was…too strange.

He tried to convince himself that Hollis was just a common name and that his father had never known the original Nite Owl, Hollis Mason. They just shared the similar names by coincidence only. He tried to convince himself that his grandparents had all died during the Event, that his mother's mother was dead, not some famous vigilante herself.

As his mother turned slightly to dump the lettuce into the bowl, Jimmy stared at the side of her face, trying to see the truth in it. She was getting older, but she was still youthful. It was easier to see a famous face in a young one rather than an old one. Jimmy tried to convince himself that his mother was a blond, not a brunette.

…she kinda looked like a Laurie.

Shaking his head, Jimmy got up and moved closer across the kitchen, watching his mother work. She looked content, though tired, as she cut some peppers skillfully. She was still his mother. She was still just mom to him. But there was a chance she was something more that all that. It wouldn't change who she was to him, he knew, but it would haunt him forever if he didn't find out the truth. Jimmy swallowed hard and decided to take the risk.

"Hey, mom?"

Sandra looked up and smiled tiredly. "Yes, Jimmy?" she asked, still cutting the celery.

Jimmy gave her a level stare, the chopping sound fading into the background. "You were alive during the Event, weren't you?" he asked.

Hesitating, Sandra looked at him, her attention completely on him. "The Event?" she repeated, still cutting the vegetables. Jimmy's eyes darted up and down from the cutting board to her face.

"Yeah, the Event. You and dad were alive during it, right?" he asked.

"Of course," laughed Sandra, though it was nothing to laugh about. People were losing that sensitivity that went along with talking about the disaster. "I was thirty-six after all. Your father was a bit older. Why?"

"School project," Jimmy said automatically.

"What about?" Sandra asked, looking back at the vegetables. Jimmy noticed and was quick to grab her attention again.

"About people who survived it," he said.

Sandra looked up at him, her hands putting together the carrots now as she spoke and chopped. "Well, I don't know how much I can help, but ask anything you want," she said, being polite, but clearly not wanting to really help. His father was more the homework-helper. Sandra wasn't a very good tutor; no patience.

"Were you there?" Jimmy asked, suddenly feeling sick inside.

Sandra hesitated, again. "Well, your father and I were just getting together," she said. Jimmy could hear it over the chopping knife; that awkward tone, that crisp edge to her words. She didn't want to talk about this. "We were on a date," she continued. "Over here in Queens."

"Pretty close to the blast center," said Jimmy, his chest was growing colder. Right across the river from it.

"Well, we were lucky," Sandra said, her voice changing to finalize the conversation. She looked back away, awkward. "Say, Jimmy, why don't you ask your father when he comes home? He's way better at history than me. You know that."

Jimmy swallowed hard. "Are you sure you were in New York?" he asked.

"Yes." Sandra looked back up, surprised, frowning. "I just said that, James."

"Yeah. Just making sure," replied Jimmy. His heart was racing, almost matching the _chop chop chop_ of the knife on the board.

"Why don't you go clean up and then set the table?" she asked, smiling again. Pleading. Tired of the questions.

Jimmy stared at her eyes, but his mind was focused on her hands. He was waiting for something, the chopping rhythm making his mind ache. He waited that whole time and it never happened.

She never once cut her fingers.

Since when was a housewife so good with knives?

Fist clenching, Jimmy stood straighter. "Okay," he said tersely. He cleared his throat and smiled at her, trying not to be uptight with her. "Be right down."

His father came home around six, always tired, but always cheerful enough to plant a kiss on Sandra's cheek and give a younger-Jimmy a pat on the head. Now, Jimmy only exchanged a quick but friendly greeting with his father. But tonight, he only smiled weakly and went on setting the table silently. If his parents noticed anything strange, they never said anything. He liked his privacy, but now, his mind screamed for a confrontation. Standing next to his parents was unbearable.

They sat down at six-thirty. His parents exchanged small talk, very much normal. Jimmy was quiet as he ate and kept looking at both as they ate, looking for signs of something he had not caught before.

His mother was famous around his circle of friends and the neighborhood for her beauty. She didn't look her age of fifty-five years old. She was in great shape, though she was more inclined to let it go in the last few years. She always had energy and could bring any situation to life. She was just starting to get wrinkles; they were barely there with her make-up on. Jimmy admired her; she was so much more a people person than he was, even if he was good at reading them. They were so different, even with their hair coloration. She was a natural blond and he had ruddy brown hair.

Even so, the resemblance between his mother's face and the face of the known Silk Spectre II was uncanny. They had the same facial features—down to that tiny mole below her right eye. Staring at his mother at the one end of the table, Jimmy's skin grew cold. It was too similar.

He stared across at his father. His father's age was much more believable. Gray had taken up most of his also-blond hair. His wrinkles were way more obvious, though it made him look more experienced than old. He was chubby, but not terribly so. Sandra used to joke about how he had once been in shape and quite handsome. They didn't have many pictures from before he was born; they had lost everything in the Event, or so they said, before they ran off to Chicago and had him.

Jimmy's stare intensified. He didn't want to believe it, but in his mind, he placed a mask on his father's face. His jaw line and nose would just be visible. Just be…perfect.

Sitting there, Jimmy felt anger boil up inside him. They had lied to him. Lied for…years. His whole life. His name wasn't real. His life wasn't real. James Walter Hollis didn't exist any more than Sam and Sandra Hollis did.

How much of everything else was just an act?

Sam Hollis looked up and saw his son staring. Being the gentle and empathic man he was, he gave his son a concerned look.

"Something wrong, champ?" he asked, frowning. Or pretending to frown. Was he really this way? Was this the true Daniel Dreiburg?

"Nothing, Da…" Jimmy stopped and stared at his father. "Dad."

Sam frowned, but looked back to his food. Jimmy stared at his father's head, suddenly feeling sick. He got up, excused himself, and went upstairs. His room, the last on the right, was dark and lonely. Closing the door, Jimmy grabbed his charging cell phone and pulled the cord from it. He dialed an all-too familiar number, staring out his window at the fading sun.

He only noticed then that he was trembling.

There was a click on the other end and a voice answered.

"Audrey?" Jimmy began, his voice tight. "We need to talk."

**0000000000**

This city never changed. There were still rats running wild in the sewers, still prostitutes whoring the streets at night, and crack dealers exchanging packages under rusting iron fire escapes. The police patrolled the day-lit streets as if in chariots of gold. Wait until night and they became scarce. Then the scum came out to romp and play.

It was during that time that Rorschach found himself slipping back into a routine he dearly missed. He'd sleep during the day in abandoned squats or apartments only to rise at night. The criminals—they were all young. They didn't know his face, and like those scum in the early old days, attacked him blindly. There was a thrill in smashing them to the ground like the cockroaches they were. It was riveting. Walking the streets, patrolling the grimiest and worse sections the police dared not go; the nostalgia was wondrous.

This activity was the only thing keeping him sane. It only served as a distraction from the frustration he was slowly encountering. He couldn't find his journal. He had looked in nearly all the libraries and government buildings related to old papers. Sneaking in and out of even the oldest libraries had resulted in nothing but wasted time.

He didn't know where to look next. Perhaps the _Old Frontiersman_ had simply dumped their old materials. The journal would be lost then. Forever.

That left only one option: find the witnesses at Karnak. It seemed simple enough. Rorschach knew people well. He knew they were easier to present as proof to the opposition rather than just words. Words did little. People did more.

But there was a problem with his schemes and he knew it right away. There had only been five witnesses: himself, Veidt, Daniel Dreiburg, Laurie Juspeczyk and Dr. Manhattan. Only they had found out the truth.

Veidt obviously would never indict himself. He was the last person Rorschach wanted to meet with now, ironically. He wanted nothing more than to drag the man through the streets, pass his people stones, and let them deliver biblical justice upon their supposed messiah. But he had to be smart. The less Veidt knew, the more it would hit him later. He was distracted helpfully by the political trouble in the Middle East. That gave Rorschach a lot of time to skulk around unnoticed.

Dr. Manhattan wouldn't be a good choice for anything. The world despised and feared him. He was this generation's bogey man like Stalin had been for his. Rorschach had questions for him, concerning his arrival here among other things, but there was no use finding him to ask. Manhattan had already expressed his desire to leave earth to its own devices the moment he left. He hadn't returned in twenty-years. Finding him now as a witness was hopeless.

There was always himself. But how would the words of a dead man hold up to the rest of the world?

So that left Daniel and Laurie. His ex-partner had always been a good man; a naïve man, but good. As Rorschach plowed down crack dealers and pimps night after night in this new New York, he was reminded of better times.

Before Daniel quit.

Still, those two, Laurie included, had been leery of revealing Veidt's plan. They went along with it because they believed in the greater good; fools. Rorschach still felt bitter. They had been willing to let Veidt walk away free, to rule this new world. They had, apparently.

Dreiburg and Silk Spectre had betrayed him. They had betrayed themselves by being silent. Too soft. Always too soft. He couldn't trust anyone.

He had to try, however. He needed witnesses. They were soft, but that could work to his advantage. They wouldn't warn Veidt. Daniel was still a good man, even while weak. They had been partners after all.

The problem was that there were no traces of Daniel Dreiburg or Laurie Juspeczyk. No New York phone book held either name. It occurred to Rorschach then that they were either dead or in hiding. Either made sense. If they hadn't had the guts to stand up to Veidt, they wouldn't mind the hiding. But if they had stood up for the right thing, they were dead.

Somehow, Rorschach wished the reason were the latter.

That night, he stood in front of a telephone booth—one of those new, strange ones Veidt International had churned out—and he flipped open the book attached inside. He found a name he had hoped to find. An old name, one he hadn't thought of it for a long time. It was a lead, though. It also had an address.

The hunt was on.

**0000000000**

Sally Jupiter had bounced around from nursing home to nursing home in the last two decades, from California back to New York and now New Jersey. She had plenty of money, it seemed; it was just her exuberant personality that had caused her to leave. She was currently settled into Happy Hills Nursing Community across the river in Bayonne, New Jersey. Rorschach's sources, old nurses and publicists, had informed him that she was still alive, though well into her eighties. Old people were difficult sources of information. There was no telling if she would even be able to tell him anything important; she may have been too far gone with age or dementia. Knowing Sally, Rorschach bet she would just be stubborn.

Happy Hills had a rather decent security set up with a fenced in outer limits. The individual homes were miniature condos and apartments, giving each senior their own little place to call home. Getting inside was easy, despite all that. A pair of wire cutters got him inside the fence and he had already found her number. He moved silently and quickly across the community, dodging only one nurse who was making his rounds. He found A-11 without any trouble at all.

The door was probably easy to break, but that amount of noise would alert everyone in the vicinity, even those without properly working ears. Rorschach smashed his fist through the window on the ground level, barely blocked by a leafless bush, and opened it almost silently. He climbed in skillfully and looked around the nearly pitch-black living room. It was small. A kitchenette was over to the left. A hallway on the right would lead to a bedroom.

Overhead, the light turned on. Rorschach started to turn quickly, but without much else warning, a lamp made contact with his head. Rorschach grunted and stumbled to the floor, room spinning. He flipped over just as a heavy book collided with the wall he had just been in front of. He looked up and saw a figure standing by the hallway entry—a white haired old woman in an off-white nightgown and gray bathrobe. Without another sound, he dodged another book as the old woman reached for another off the book shelf. Rorschach wordlessly reached out and grabbed her hand. She yelled out, but quieted up when he slammed her—gentler than usual—into the wall, just to hold her still. She looked up in shock and then anger.

"Sally Juspeczyk," he rasped.

Sally, despite being nearly all white and smaller than he remembered, snarled at him. She pushed his hand away and he stepped back respectfully.

"Jupiter. How many times do I have to tell you people I haven't answered to that name in years!" she snapped bitterly. She yanked her robe around properly and held her head up high, proud as ever. "And who the hell are you? Some goddamn reporter? Call my goddamn agent, don't break into my house!"

Rorschach tilted his head and grunted. She knew who he was. "You know who," he growled.

Sally hesitated. "Alright kid, it's not Halloween yet," she said, glaring. "Nice costume, but you're not fooling this old broad."

For a moment, Rorschach didn't quite know what to say. The world thought him dead. Sally Jupiter had thought no different.

"Manhattan's aim wasn't that good," he said simply.

Sally stared at him. For a moment, Rorschach feared he would have to do something desperate to prove who he was; like take off his mask—no, not again. If she didn't believe him, that was her fault. He didn't have to prove anything to her. He could rattle off names or something. That was enough.

"You're…" began Sally, now confused. She peered at him in the darkened room. In the dim lighting, Rorschach could see her disbelief and growing bewilderment. "You can't be him."

"Who else?" demanded Rorschach.

Sally paused again and his time, her face grew almost intrigued. "Rorschach is dead," she said simply.

"Says who? Veidt and his global Utopia?" asked Rorschach, now growing angry. He stepped closer, looming over the aged super heroine. "Dreiburg and Juspeczyk dead too? Is that what you think?" He hoped that wasn't the truth.

The names did wonders. Sally's face warped into one of shock and she stepped back.

"How do you know those names?" she demanded.

"Was once my job to know more than most," Rorschach said. He moved to the side, keep his eyes pinned on her. It was pointless, though; she looked frightened now and not ready to attack anymore. "No secret there."

Sally reached up and grasped her chest, her eyes wide. "What do you want?" she breathed, terrified.

She thought she was seeing a dead man walking. Rorschach stared at her a moment longer before proceeding to walk around, as if interested by the interior of the room. It held her mark; pictures and posters of her travels and fame. Her costume stood proudly in the corner, collecting dust. Her face may have aged, but it was clearly her.

"Information," he said.

"Like what?" demanded Sally, actually sounding annoyed now. Rorschach looked over and saw Sally was obviously trying to reclaim her aggressive front. "You rise from the dead to come badger an old lady for information? What would I even know?"

Rorschach grunted. "The locations of Dreiburg and Juspeczyk," he said. They held more importance to him than this aged vigilante. However, Sally was his only link currently.

Sally bristled and held her head high again. "What are they to you? You're dead!" she snapped.

"Are they alive?" he asked, his voice no more than a growl.

Sally glared back at him. "Yes," she finally said.

"Where?"

"As if I'd tell you?" she snapped. She was regaining her bravado now. Rorschach growled lowly. He suddenly remembered why he disliked the original Silk Spectre.

Sally continued to move away, toward the kitchenette. She angrily yanked on the overhead light and the room brightened. She proceeded to grab the teakettle and set it on the stove. Rorschach moved closer, watching her as she heated up the water and grabbed a porcelain mug from the wash rack.

"My daughter and her husband worked harder than they ever did to disappear," she continued, as if she were no longer afraid of the vigilante. "They don't need the likes of you—ghost or not—showing up, ruining what they've made."

That made Rorschach grit his teeth, angry. "Forgot purpose, _again_?" he demanded, louder now. He moved closer and Sally turned to face him. "Gone soft—too soft."

"Family does that," replied Sally dryly. She crossed her arms—they looked too feeble and fragile to be part of the once-legendary crime fighter—and looked defiantly up at his masked face. "Maybe you'd know that if you ever stopped parading around like the old days."

Rorschach growled. "I want their location," he said. There was no room to negotiate in his tone.

"I haven't seen them in years," Sally said. She was probably lying as she turned back to face the stove. She stared at the kettle as if trying to make it heat faster.

"Mean them no harm," Rorschach finally said, moving closer still. "Only need to talk."

"Talk? Talk?" repeated the elderly woman. She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, we all want to talk. I haven't talked to my daughter in nearly five years. I only held my grandson once as a baby before they whisked him off to god-knows where, trying to out move the government. Yeah, we all want to talk. Get in line, buddy."

Grandson? Rorschach hesitated and stared at the older woman, gauging her body language as she reached for the kettle as it began to whistle lowly. She didn't seem like she was lying. But the idea of Dreiburg…and Laurie…having a child seemed surreal. Figures, though. They were too concerned with materialistic things. They would be the type to "settle down." Forget their origins.

"I can't help you, ghost-Rorschach. I'm probably not even really having this conversation." Sally laughed bitterly. "You're gone twenty-years and suddenly end up in my nursing home? Maybe I've gone and died. Figures. We're all dropping like flies now."

Rorschach glared at her and clenched his fists. This had been a pointless run.

Sally dipped her teabag in and out of the hot water in the mug. "You know, Dan never forgave Veidt for what he did to you," she said, as if just humoring herself. As if it were a joke. "But there's no way you're alive. You're a ghost and I'm dreaming."

"People wake up from dreams," Rorschach said roughly. "There's no waking up now." Not from this lie. Not from this nightmare of a city. Not for as long as Veidt still reigned savior.

Sally paused as she lifted the mug to her lips, its steam wafting in front of her face. "Whatever your planning, stay away from my daughter and her family," she said quietly. There was a threat there. "Maybe if they didn't have their son, I'd help. But not now. Family makes it different." Her voice was laced with feeling; she could understand her own advice quite well.

Rorschach stared at her silently. There was no point in staying.

Sally set down her mug. "So, why don't you get the hell out of my…" Sally turned and stopped. Rorschach was long gone. She frowned and leaned against the counter. With a heavy sigh, she placed the cup down on the counter and looked up at the ceiling. Looking for god, maybe looking for a blue man in the stars.

Rorschach moved quickly down the streets, away from this cleaner neighborhood. The whole trip was a waste of time, save for the fact that he had learned Daniel and Laurie had chosen anonymity. It would be more difficult to find them. He had to search everywhere, take up every lead. They thought him dead and if they had no contact with Sally, they wouldn't know of his sudden arrival.

This would be difficult.

Regardless of their betrayal or lack of will to fight Veidt, Rorschach knew that Daniel and Laurie would at least give him information, like what Veidt had really been up to in his absence. He needed them as witnesses. No one would believe a lone voice. They had been there, in Antarctica. They had seen the truth.

But if he couldn't find them, Rorschach knew his chances were limited. They all thought him dead to top it all off. They wouldn't even think about him looking to find them.

Sally had said they moved far away. The chances of him finding them were growing slimmer by the second. He probably would never. Dan had never been good at disappearing, but it had been twenty years. People could do a lot with twenty years, especially with motivation.

His only chance that remained in New York would be the journal. After retrieving it, he could spread out to find out where his old partner and his wife had escaped. It would take much longer than he had anticipated, but he had to remind himself that he had time.

All he had left now was time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Audrey gets her hands on that journal and Rorschach doesn't. Then, the shit hits the fan, guys.
> 
> A/Ns  
> -Una aventura – "an adventure"  
> -No estas pensando claramente. – "You're not thinking clearly" (when stressed, Cesar slips into Spanish)  
> -No, Rorschach is not Jimmy's uncle.  
> -I apologize for all the foul language in the dialogue between Cesar and Jimmy.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four, in which Jimmy protects his parents from their own mistakes, Rorschach makes a huge blunder, and Audrey gets her hands on the truth.
> 
> Parts of Rorschach's journal have been shamelessly copied in this chapter for the sake of effect. Only bits of it; I hold no credit for writing them.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die."  
-Genesis 2:17

* * *

 

By time he had organized a meeting the next afternoon at one of the many abandoned lots in south Brooklyn, where he and the others would talk this over, Jimmy felt the start of a massive headache forming at the base of his skull. By the time he actually got to the empty lot with Audrey, it was all adding up: the stress, the anxiety—the _noise_.

"What the hell is that?!" demanded Tamila, completely outraged as she sat on a pipe. The lot was on a list to be cleaned up and developed by the city. That would take years, but pipes were strewn around the lot, weeds wrapping up around them like vines in a jungle.

"That's…wack, man. Holy hell. Are you sure!?" Markus asked, his eyes wide.

Cesar nodded vehemently. "I saw it myself, man. Didn't we, Jimmy? The goddamn Owlship is just chillin' under that place. His mom's all ninja and shit to begin with!"

"We need to confront them with this," Audrey said, severe.

"Please," begged Jimmy, clenching his eyes shut, pained, "I don't want to ask them…"

"What?! The hell we're not! Damn, Jim, this is, like, beyond serious!" yelled Tamila.

Markus hesitated. "Well…maybe, we should think about this a bit first."

"What's there to think about? His dad's fuckin' Nite Owl and his mom's Silk Spectre. Not that hard to comprehend!"

They all kept shouting ideas, plans. Jimmy mentally whimpered and gritted his teeth together. He didn't know what to do. It was all becoming crazy.

"Alright, everyone shut up!" shouted Audrey, her voice making Jimmy wince and the others to shut up instantly. She sounded pissed.

Jimmy opened his eyes and saw her glaring at them all, having stepped forward. Mentally, Jimmy felt relieved. Audrey could handle this. She always did.

"Alright, now, calm the hell down, all of you," she snapped, angry. "We're acting like five-year-olds."

"But, Audrey," Tamila began, her eyes wide with shocked anger, "this is big. Fucking huge!"

"I know, but that's why we have to be clearheaded about this," replied Audrey, frowning.

Tamila wouldn't back down yet. "This is like the _biggest_ thing that's ever come up," she declared angrily. "Audrey—you always wanted more info on those guys. Look at this—this is our best shot at finding out _everything_!"

Audrey's expression didn't change. "Maybe." She looked over at Jimmy with the same severe look. "Jimmy, explain why you don't want to confront your parents."

Jimmy stared back at her, his heart racing. He suddenly felt awful, because he knew Tamila was right. Audrey wanted to know about the old Crimebusters—bad. She was nearly obsessed with finding out more. If his parents were really Dan Dreiberg and Laurie Juspeczyk—and that was looking more and more like the truth—this would be their best and only chance to communicate with the members of the old group. And Jimmy was denying his friend—the girl he desperately liked—the satisfaction of knowing the truth when it was close enough to grasp in their very hands.

But they were still his parents.

"Look," he began shakily, "my mom and dad…they've never said a word about this."

"Aren't you pissed, though?" demanded Cesar, not understanding at all. "Damn, man, this is…this is crazy shit."

"No shit," snapped Jimmy. He was angry, angry that his friends couldn't understand. "You all know my mom and dad! They're not bad or secretive or suspicious. They're—they're normal people. If they really were those people, why would they try to hide now!?"

Cesar opened his mouth to speak, but Jimmy beat him to it. "The government was after them, you know that. They—they had to hide. They broke that guy, Rorschach, out of prison and broke the law by going back in costume. They have every reason to hide," he said, his voicing growing louder, but the cold feeling in his stomach growing worse. "Then, they had me, man. Kids change everything, right? M-maybe they just wanted a normal life for me and themselves, after all that shit they went through before. I don't want to ruin that for them. They've done…they've done so much for me. I can't destroy what they've tried to build for themselves."

"Then why did they come back here?" asked Markus, frowning. "This is where they'd most likely be spotted. They went all the way out to Chicago only to return here?"

"I don't know why, man. They waited 'til I was older to move back, didn't they?" Jimmy said, upset. "Maybe they thought it was safe to come back? Who knows, who cares?! All I know is that they're my parents and I'm not going to ruin their lives!"

"They hid everything from you," Tamila tried to say.

"And I trust them," Jimmy said angrily. "Because I know they love me and I love them. I'm not— _not_ —going to ask them anything. I'm not."

He stopped on a high, but firm note. He was shaking terribly and he crossed his arms against his chest to try to calm down. The others were staring at him silently. Tamila looked livid, Cesar and Markus looked unsure of what to do next and Audrey was just staring.

Jimmy felt horrible. He could understand their anger and confusion. His friends had all been swept up by the Crimebuster legends. He had once wanted to know everything about them, too, and would have jumped at the chance of meeting Nite Owl II and Silk Spectre II. But things were different now. This had become more than personal. He was content enough with the knowledge he had now. But he knew it wouldn't be the same for the others.

They stood there for a moment longer, everyone uncomfortably unsure of what to say or do. Jimmy looked at the muddy ground. The silence was stifling.

Finally, thankfully, Audrey nodded. "Fine," she said tersely.

"What!?" yelled Cesar. He and Tamila both looked aghast.

"Listen to him," snapped Audrey. She nodded at Jimmy, though she kept her eyes on the others. "This really doesn't concern us. It's a family issue more than anything else. You gonna go fuck with that?"

Cesar hesitated at that, of course. Jimmy swallowed hard. Cesar was all about family. He was the most nervous about letting his family know about his new occupation. He would understand keeping secrets to protect the ones he loved.

Tamila was less inclined to follow that logic. "What the fuck," she grumbled. She looked around, angry.

"Just drop it," said Audrey said, her voice strong, stronger than Jimmy knew his was.

Silence fell over them again and Jimmy's guilt grew.

"It doesn't matter about them anyway," Markus suddenly said. Everyone looked over at him and he smiled. "We've been so wrapped up in mimicking the past when we have our own stuff to look at."

"We're not going to mimic the past," corrected Audrey, frowning. "But you're right…how're the costumes coming?"

Cesar's face immediately lit up. "Man, you should see the shit Iyana came up with for me," he said, gleeful. "I look awesome."

"I've been done for a while," said Tamila, still sour.

"Almost," added Jimmy, nodding. "I just need to attach the cape."

"A cape? That's so old-school, man," laughed Cesar. "Gonna go be just like daddy?"

Jimmy scowled. "Screw you, man." It was only then that Jimmy realized that he technically _was_ following in his father's footsteps; he had even thought about picking up the name Nite Owl III. He wasn't sure just yet, but the idea seemed…promising.

Audrey looked happier now, though. "Good. I'm nearly done, too," she said, smiling. "Do you think you guys could be finished by Thursday for the next meeting?"

"Sure." Everyone nodded. Suddenly, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to fade as they all focused on their own Crimebusters endeavor.

"Great. I want costumes and names by then," she said, looking at all of them individually. "Once that's done and we go through some more prepping and practices…"

"You think…?" Cesar began, hopeful. The others looked at Audrey in anticipation, eyes gleaming.

Audrey grinned. "I think we could be fully operational this time next week," she said, her voice betraying her excitement.

Cesar and Markus crowed in happiness and exchanged violent high-fives. Tamila brightened up and cheered. Even Jimmy, the coldness in his stomach fading away completely, beamed. Finally, after so many weeks of preparing and waiting, they could go out and do what they had all dreamt of doing.

Finally, Crimebusters was coming back.

"Well," began Markus, glancing at his watch, "I've got to head to work. Meeting at Jimmy's on Thursday?"

"Yup," supplied Jimmy, nodding. His mother was going to a friend's house and his father would be working until six as usual. They had enough time to get a quick get-together in.

"Alrighty then. See you all then," said Audrey. "And if you do go out after dark from now until then, be careful."

"Always are," replied Markus cheerfully.

"Yeah, not my fault if some gang-banger walks into my fist again," added Cesar, smirking.

The others laughed, even though they shouldn't have. Jimmy sighed and shook his head as they moved as a group toward the lot exit. Once they were a real group, they wouldn't have to be individually on the streets, taking care of rogue crime. He and Audrey would organize them correctly and they could go out for real, every night, or at least whenever they could. They would be a real unit. It would be perfect and much safer than their current ways of doing the right thing.

As they walked, Jimmy moved closer to Tamila and looked down at her sheepishly. She glanced over and gave him a scowl, though he knew she was done being angry. He had once been afraid of the emotional woman. He had learned like the others that Tamila was actually as sensitive as they came. Sometimes.

"Thanks for not pushing it anymore," Jimmy said, smiling slightly.

For a moment, Tamila didn't say anything. She frowned at him as they walked, the others pretending not to listen in. "I guess you really are a momma's boy," she said. She sounded serious, but Jimmy could see amusement in her eyes.

He laughed and pushed her. "Ah, shut up, Tam." The others chuckled.

She laughed and pushed him back as they walked toward the exit. "Yeah, yeah. Keep your family secrets. I don't have to live with you guys, so whatever."

"Ha, right," he said dryly, trying not to think about how true that was. He dreaded going home now. It was going to be an awkward couple of days until he could get used to everything.

When they got to the sidewalk, Markus, Cesar and Tamila went left, good-byes were shouted, and Audrey and Jimmy went right. He and Audrey walked for a bit in companionable silence. It was a nice moment for Jimmy; when they walked around their neighborhood, Audrey had to be cautious about being seen with him. Nothing against him, of course; she just didn't want questions raised in case one her "friends" from school saw them together.

Briefly, Jimmy wondered what it would be like if he had mimicked Audrey and went with the mainstream, forcing himself to be like the majority and make the world think he was "normal." He might have had a chance with Audrey. Maybe he wouldn't have been picked on so much in school. Life would have been easier.

Or maybe it wouldn't. Jimmy frowned mentally at the idea of living such a lie for three years. He had once been "normal" back in Chicago while growing up there, but he ended up being labeled a semi-outcast, a nerd but still a friendly nerd. Here, after meeting Audrey and the others in sophomore year, he had decided to not try, to fall off the charts completely. He may not have had the chance to win the prom king title, but like Audrey, he had shaped a niche for himself. No one would suspect quiet James Hollis for a superhero. It worked out in the end. He knew he would choose his silence over the nonsense Audrey had to put up with. He didn't have as much patience as she did, after all.

"I'm gonna do some researching," Audrey said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. They stopped on a street corner where they would have turned right again. She looked up at him and pointed left. "I need to take the bus, so I'm gonna split here."

Jimmy glanced over at her. "Okay. See you later." Oh, yes, Audrey had an obsession over the past.

Waving, Audrey started to walk away, toward the street and where her bus stop was. Jimmy watched her for just a second, a thought popping into his head.

"Audrey?" he asked quickly.

Audrey stopped and turned to face him. "Yeah?" she asked.

Jimmy swallowed awkwardly and stood nervously before her. "Thanks," he said finally. "For, you know, sticking up for me back there."

Smiling, Audrey nodded. "No problem."

"I mean…I'm sorry, too," he said, quieter. "I…I know how much that would have meant to you." To speak to the real deals, the real Crimebusters.

"It's fine," she lied. Jimmy knew it was tearing her up inside. Audrey nodded at him. "You did the right thing. They must have sacrificed everything for you. We have to respect that decision."

Jimmy nodded stiffly. "Right." Feeling nervous, he started to turn away. "Well, see you tomorrow at school." And in the meantime, he would be stuck in his house, watching his mother and father move about, suffering in silence at their normalcy…

"Jimmy."

He stopped, his heart jumping wildly, and he turned back to her. Audrey was standing on the sidewalk in the same position, staring at him. She smiled gently at him.

"I would have done the same for my parents," she said simply. "And so would the others."

Jimmy stared at her and then nodded. "Thanks. See you tomorrow."

Audrey nodded and turned away. Jimmy watched her until she was too far away to be really recognized on the streets. He sighed heavily, knowing it was pointless to dwell on the matter any longer. There were more pressing matters to attend to than his parents' previous lives and the old Crimebusters. He had his orders, to finish his costume, pick his identity and prepare for their debut on the streets. He turned around and headed toward home.

However, as he approached the subway entrance, Jimmy decided to make a detour over to Staten Island and visit a certain storage unit.

His costume wouldn't be complete without a few crescent moon decorations, after all.

**0000000000**

After the Event, people started to care more about written documents. The library in Moscow had been destroyed. Historical locations across the globe had been wiped from existence, taking with it centuries of human history and knowledge. It was ironic; as the world tried to make sense of its future, it became obsessed with protecting its past. It was who they once were. They were different—better off—now, but they must always remember where they came from.

Post-Event, many businesses shut down, as one would expect. Newspapers located within the afflicted cities were some of the first to go. In the chaos of the Event, no one had the time or money to buy the papers. The shops had to close down and people relied on the TVs for news.

The newspapers eventually picked up again in the cities, but several years of materials had been lost. Historians swooped down on abandoned printing shops and grabbed the materials still there. These were primary sources now; they were the unadulterated truth of Pre-Event life. Most documents were swept along, living in the limelight for just a moment, before retiring to college and city archives. Some found homes at the libraries where only students, professors and people already on a quest to find them went to look.

Audrey had a quest. For nearly a week, she searched archives and libraries. She dug through boxes of forgotten newspapers from the 80's in hope of finding one in particular. Most archivists were of no use simply because most collections had not been put in any order. Some had been thrown out after a decade of taking up shelf space in storage.

But Audrey kept looking. It may have all been in vain, but she kept trying. She kept hoping that because it was a journal of a Pre-Event celebrity (if one could even call him that), it may have been saved. But no librarian or archivist had anything to give her. The journal had been lost to time.

There were still many libraries to check. New York was like that; if there was a specific kind of building around, most likely, there were at least three more in different neighborhoods.

So that was why she took the bus across the river from Brooklyn to Manhattan to visit the Riverside Branch. It was out of her way, but she was becoming desperate. The journal was slowly becoming her only link to the old Crimebusters; Jimmy's parents weren't to be considered approachable. There was no way in hell she could get close to Adrian Veidt to ask. The others were dead or cruising the stars. Rorschach was the very person she wished to avoid becoming, but his journal was something more. It was something tangible; something she could grasp. It would be the only thing to reassure her that, yes, she was doing the right thing. She could be a leader.

She entered the library with her head held high. She marched past the turnstyle, dumped her cell phone and house keys onto the table for the security guard to check, and headed off to the front desk once she passed inspection. There were few people there so late in the afternoon. The lone librarian sitting at the desk smiled up at her with the same amount of leery cheerfulness you'd give a teenage visitor to the library.

"Hello," said the librarian.

"Hi. How are you today?" asked Audrey, politely, leaning against the desk.

"I'm doing just fine. Are you looking for a particular book today?" the older woman asked, growing just a tad friendlier.

"Yes, actually." Audrey sighed slightly and recalled the same speech she gave the other librarians all over the city. "I'm doing a project on Pre-Event life here in Manhattan. I was wondering if you had any newspapers here in storage from that time period."

"During the 1980s?" asked the librarian, now interested.

"Yes, if possible. I was looked for anything from the actual newspaper printing shops themselves. Like, sources they may have received and kept. You know, like things people may have mailed in to them."

The librarian frowned, thinking. "Not many people ask for it, but we do have a small archive of Pre-Event newspapers in the back," she said, standing. She smiled at Audrey. "I can take you back to look around at what we have, if you'd like."

Audrey beamed back. "Thank you so much!"

The librarian led the way into the sea of bookshelves, Audrey trailing her anxiously. Many of the other librarians had done the same for her and nothing had come of it. She couldn't help but feel hopeful every time she walked to the back. Maybe there was something there. Another clue, another lead—something.

In the very back of the library, near the shelves dedicated to medical textbooks and thick old books with dust all over their bindings, they stopped at a row of shelves. Almost empty, they held only a few boxes and crates. No one went back there, it seemed. They just left the items out in the open.

"We don't have much," the librarian began, pulling on random boxes and bringing them closer to inspect their labels. "You might find some things, but I wouldn't put too much hope in finding a lot of sources. The newspapers used to throw those out after closing shop."

Audrey nodded, already knowing this routine. "I know. It doesn't hurt to take a look though, right?"

The librarian smiled and pushed a cardboard box toward her. "You can't take anything out of the building, but you can take this to a table to look through, if you'd like." She paused, her hand still on the box, and gave her a critical look. "Now…I need to know if I can trust you. These aren't the Declaration of Independence by any means, but they're still very important to the city. You're going to be extra careful with these, correct?"

"I'll treat them like diamonds," said Audrey, holding her right had up for effect. She smiled. "I adore history, ma'am. I would never hurt a book or something as valuable as these."

That seemed to please the woman greatly. "It's so nice to hear you kids say that. Not many of you do," she said as Audrey hefted the box into her arms and they headed out toward the tables and the better lighting. "When you're done, just put the box back where you found it."

"Thank you," Audrey said again brightly.

The librarian headed off back to her desk and Audrey veered off to one of the tables. No one else was sitting nearby, so she plunked herself down and opened the box. Excitement almost made her want to rip the box open and throw all of the materials inside in front of her to see. But she hadn't lied to the librarian; she adored books. These were rare documents. They needed to be handled with the utmost care.

So, carefully, she lifted each paper out of the box and looked through their contents. There were file folders filled with first drafts of stories. Most were laminated copies of front pages of various extinct newspapers. None of them were important. Audrey kept looking through the papers. Whatever the library's archivist had thought important had been saved and protected; but there was no telling what they thought was worth protecting. It was worse than digging for a needle in a haystack.

She must have spent an hour digging through that box, looking at each paper carefully. She found several laminates of the New Frontiersman. It gave her hope, but she had found a few copies in other collections. It didn't mean much.

Finally, after much toil, she was reaching the bottom of the box. Audrey's hope was slowly deflating once more. This, like the other archives, seemed like a dead end. She had given herself a week to really search and find what she wanted, but that was almost up. There was the meeting on Thursday to think of. Her costume was almost done, but she needed to work on that. Schoolwork was also an issue. She had very little time left to devote to this search. As much as it burned her insides, in addition to losing the chance of speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Hollis, she knew she had to give it up before she…

She reached back down into the box and froze when her fingertips touched not cardboard bottom, but something odd. It was sturdy, had a unique texture and seemed out of place. If she didn't know better, it felt like a leather-bound book.

Audrey's heart skipped a beat.

She stood up quickly and nearly tipped the box over toward herself. Inside there was nothing but a few remaining laminates and—a book. A brown, beaten-up book. Audrey stared at it, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening.

_Holy shit._

Without a word, Audrey grabbed the book and brought it close to her face. She was trembling so badly, she almost dropped it. She could feel the leather and smell its musty old scent. Its edges were beginning to fray and some of it hung off the sides in strings. But it was together. It was whole. Audrey tilted the book in the lighting, still in disbelief.

"No way," she whispered, unable to take her eyes off of it.

All that searching, all of that seeking…she couldn't believe it paid off. She had held onto the hope of finding it, but deep inside, she doubted that anything would come of it. Two decades this book had existence in secret, no one searching for it. It had been waiting for her this whole time to find it, lonely on that bookshelf.

Audrey flipped the book open, its pages crackling from age and non-use, her eyes hungrily taking in everything. She finally had it. She could finally read it. Her eyes darted over the pages as she flipped through them…

But then, she snapped the book shut. Audrey looked ahead, suddenly severe. There was no time to read the book now. She looked around her. There was no one there and the librarian had her back to her. Quickly, Audrey shoved the book into her jacket, zipping it up to hold the book in place.

She wasn't stealing it, she rationalized even as her heart began to pound nervously. She would eventually return it. She just couldn't afford to be seen reading it in the open. No one would miss it.

So, with that logic, she had enough strength to quickly put everything back into the box, as if nothing were wrong or missing. She carried the box back and placed it in its correct place on the forgotten shelves. She was already planned how she would handle the situation as she walked at a forced normal pace back to the front of the library. She would read it at home, get the others to read it and return it Friday afternoon. She would just say she wanted to check the box again and just put it back in there. Sweet and simple.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" asked the librarian, smiling up at her as Audrey passed the front desk.

Audrey smiled weakly back at her, her heart pounding. "No…it wasn't quite what I'd been looking for," she lied. "Thanks for taking the time to show me, though."

"You're welcome. Good luck in your search," the lady said, meaning it.

Audrey nodded and kept walking. The guard nodded at her and she nervously waved back. She fumbled with the turnstyle, barely able to contain her excitement. She wanted to read it all now. But home was safer than here. If anyone—oh _God_ , the Happiness Inquisition—ever found out that she had this book, she would be in so much trouble. Not only would she get busted for theft of government property, her own people would be disappointed as well.

She would screen it first before telling the others. After they all had a go at reading it, she'd slip it back in the collection later, she kept telling herself. No one would notice; no one cared to read those articles anyway, so there was no one to check their contents either—

"Ufh!"

Audrey stumbled backwards, instinctively tensing up, her arms reaching up to assume a defensive position. But then, she realized she was still in the entry space of the library and she had simply bumped into a man.

"Sorry," she said hurried, barely casting him a look. She absently reached up and patted her jacket; the journal was safe.

The man grunted and kept going, slipping through the turnstyle behind them. Audrey scowled grumpily as she pushed the library doors open and stepped out onto the front steps. She disliked rude people; the man was grimy and smelled terrible, too. If there was a way to deal with manners the same way that she could deal with crime, that would be her next crusade after getting rid of the drug dealers and gangsters.

But she had more important things to worry herself over now. She had a lifetime of reading to do that night. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, her chest light, and a smile trapped on her lips. Home was just a forty-minute ride away.

She couldn't wait.

**0000000000**

He hated it. He despised it. It made his skin crawl. But it was necessary. He had tried all avenues of obtaining leads and searching for the book. He had broken into library after library, archive after archive. He had had to knock a guard unconscious while attempting to break into . He couldn't just slip in and out of places as easily as he had hoped. Security measures had been increased in most public places. He couldn't just neutralize any security now either; that would draw attention to himself. Not yet. He couldn't be noticed yet.

So, he grabbed a backpack from a dumpster, threw in his coat, suit jacket and hat. His stained white undershirt and pants had to stay as they were as he walked down the streets anonymously, people who passed him never noticing him among the other faces of the crowd. He had not had time to find new clothes. There was no time to drop by some shelter to appropriate them. His attentions were focused totally on finding the journal now.

The Riverside Branch of the NYC public library network was located in Manhattan. It was small, but on a list of potential hiding spots of the _New Frontiersman_ archives.

He entered the library in a foul mood. He bumped into someone leaving and mentally cringed at the touch. It was a female. She apologized, but Rorschach was already off. His shoulder burned; he hated being out of mask in public.

The security guard gave him a dirty look as he approached the little stand. Rorschach almost didn't stop, but forced himself to pay attention. There were new rules to play by it seemed. New security. He was actually rather pleased by the idea; finally, people were starting to care more for their own safety.

What didn't please him was the fact he had to let the fat, obviously illiterate guard look through his bag.

"Its procedure, sir," the guard said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest when he tried to argue.

Rorschach grit his teeth and clenched his fists, his anger growing. He had to focus on his mission, though. So, stiffly, he handed the man the backpack. There was nothing suspect in the bag; just his clothes. The guard didn't look interested as he riffled through the bag. He made a disgusted face when he lifted his coat out and hastily shoved it back inside the bag.

After several wasted minutes, he handed the bag back to Rorschach, who grabbed it with a glare. Rorschach walked the distance to the main desk where the librarian

"I need to see your collections of newspapers from 1985," he said before she even had a chance to say anything.

The older woman glanced at him, wary. "You mean, Pre-Event news articles?" she asked.

Pre-Event? Rorschach fought the urge to scowl at the woman. She meant the time before Veidt had destroyed New York and the rest of the world. "Yes," he replied tersely. It was all he could do.

"We do have a small collection in the back, if you want to take a look," she said hesitantly.

She was obnoxiously slow. Feeling practically naked in the building without his face on, Rorschach nodded quickly. "Yes. Thank you." It was unnerving to just be standing there.

Thankfully, the old woman finally rose and nodded vaguely with her head toward the shelves behind her. "Follow me, then," she said, glancing around nervously.

Rorschach grunted and obediently followed her as she moved toward the back. He felt positively dreary as he trudged along, tucking closer into himself away from the public air. To think, he might have to do this for more locations…it had been so long since he interacted with people as Walter Kovacs. It was necessary, he kept telling himself, to become that man again in body only. He tried not to imagine how much easier it would have been to do this whole thing in his real face; fear was a better motivator than polite inquiries.

"This is the second time today someone's been coming around asking for those," the old librarian commented thoughtfully. Rorschach perked up at that.

"Really?" he asked, suspicious.

"Just a few minutes ago really." She chuckled nervously. "Might I ask why you're interested in the papers?"

"Reporter," he said simply, his mind now focused on the idea that someone had just been looking for the same thing he was searching for. That did not bode well.

The librarian cast him a doubtful look. "I see," she murmured as they walked to the back of the library. "Well, I'll tell you the same thing I told her, please be very careful with the articles and put the box back when you're done."

Rorschach grunted again and the old woman took that as an affirmative it seemed. She led him to the very back, toward the left wall, where a nearly bare shelf awaited them. The old woman went over and picked up one of the few boxes that didn't seem too dust-covered.

"Here you go," she said, holding the box out to him with some difficulty. He grabbed it awkwardly, not wanting to accidentally touch her hands. "Just be sure to put it back…"

He didn't pay her any more attention after that. He walked away with the box, looking down at its contents hungrily. It seemed a bit sloppy; freshly touched. He had no idea why someone else would go look for decade old materials, but perhaps it was nothing.

He dropped the box onto an empty tabletop and began to sift through the contents hurriedly. There was no telling how long this window of opportunity would last. Rumors could spread. Veidt could catch wind of his presence. He might make a rookie mistake in this new world of new rules and the police might capture him. His only chance to properly expose Veidt remained in the journal and his ability to find the two remaining witnesses. If he could just find the journal, he would be one step closer to finishing what should have occurred twenty years earlier.

Most of the contents were useless. Laminated copies of newspapers that had once been new in his hands just days—to him—ago were now "antiques." It was an unsettling feeling, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He kept searching for the book.

But it wasn't there. He was nearly three-quarters of the way through the box and he knew it wasn't there. It was all papers. A sinking feeling of defeat threatened to take hold in his gut. He dreaded going back out to search. It seemed hopeless.

He lifted one more paper and saw something brown that caught his eye. Rorschach froze and leaned down closer. He removed the paper and saw a thin string of brown caught up in the crevice of the box's side.

Rorschach reached down into the box and picked up the piece of brown. It was leather. He lifted it higher and sniffed it. Real. Familiar texture. Reminded him of better times.

He stared at it, turning it over in his hands. It was from the journal. He knew that smell, that shade of brown. It was older, fraying—but it was definitely from his journal. It was next to copies of the _New Frontiersman_. It was the real thing.

But where was the journal?

Rorschach grabbed the box and without another word, flipped it upside down and let the remaining contents drop to the table. There were a few more scraps of leather, but nothing else. Rorschach's breathing picked up and he tried not to panic. This was impossible. How could remnants of the journal be there among the _New Frontiersman_ 's final resting-place and the journal not?

Then it hit him: whoever had last been in the collection must have taken it.

But who? Rorschach leaned away from the messy table, wheezing slightly in his panicked state of mind. It was of no use to the common person. Why now, after twenty years, would it attract attention? He couldn't fathom anyone wanting it now.

He tried to remember people coming in and out of the library. The old woman said the person before him had just left. Who had…?

Rorschach froze and images of a squinty-eyed girl with dark hair flashed through his mind.

That girl.

Rorschach spun around, his heart racing. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he snarled, taking off into a near-sprint. How had he been so foolish? That child…had walked right by him! She had it; she had his journal!

A hundred scenarios flashed by his mind—working for Veidt, a spy, a child of a Mask, government assassin—but he wasn't worried about the why right now. He had to get the journal back. It was his only evidence, only proof that Veidt was behind everything. It was all he had left…

The librarian screamed when he came tearing by the front desk. He slammed into the turnstyle, ignored the startled security guard, and stumbled into the glass doors. He shoved them open, his breathing and heart out of control. He couldn't lose it now. Not now. Not now…!

The cold air was like a slap in the face. Rorschach barely made it down the stairs. He tripped out onto the sidewalk, unsteady on his feet. He looked around wildly. The few people on the street— _woman, too old; two men, no_ —gave him bewildered stares as they walked by him. He looked up and down the street; across it—

She was gone.

Rorschach couldn't stop himself from shuddering violently or stop his rapidly increasing breathing. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. After everything, he would be denied his journal as well? He had to find it. He had…

Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and gripped his mask, his nails biting into his palm.

He would find her.

Jaw set, Rorschach forced himself to calm down. A child was harder to find than an adult, but this world was different than his. It had more lines of communication open than he had first imagined. He would find her.

Without another word, Rorschach started off down the street; down was always the best way to start. He didn't worry about being too late or too slow in his searching.

As long as he remained anonymous, played his cards right, he would have forever.

**0000000000**

Her mother had asked her what she had gotten at the library, and Audrey lied, saying she had not gotten anything. What disturbed her most was how easy it was to lie. She never used to lie to her parents. Now, it was almost a second nature. About the group, about staying out late and now this. As much as it was for her parents' benefit to stay unaware of what she was doing, she disliked having to hide it.

She had no qualms, however, in rushing down the hall to her bedroom to do "homework." In reality, as soon as she shut her door and jumped onto her bed, she pulled the Rorschach journal from the inside of her coat and held it up to the dim lighting overhead. Her fingers trembled when she touched its ragged leather cover. It smelled like mildew and trash. It had been hailed as the ravings of a madmen.

It was positively glorious.

Audrey could not believe her luck. After shifting through newspaper upon newspaper and psyche-evaluations of the previous masked heroes of New York, she had gotten some third and second hand accounts of the Crimebusters and Minutemen. But this…this was first hand, written in the hand of the City's most infamous and lethal vigilante. This was solid _gold_.

She did remember, however, that this was Rorschach, AKA Walter Kovacs, the batshit crazy one. He had given the Watchmen a terrible name in its final days. He was a murderer, a criminal. But he was all she had. Audrey bit her lip, lowering the journal into her lap. She was tempted to call Jimmy or Tamila, to share with them her findings.

But what would lie within its moldy pages? Lies? Hidden truth? She had to be realistic, once her heart stopped shuddering with hyped anticipation. This was the diary of a full-out madman. She had seen the file from the police records. Rorschach was an animal. The idea that he could write, let alone write eloquently, was absurd.

Yet, here she was, holding the most sacred of Mask documents in her very hands. Rorschach had been the very last mask she had thought to look up. She had almost forgotten him, save for the horror-reports about him. The _New Frontiersman_ had a few explicit articles condemning him as a crazy vigilante. Ironically, it was this same paper that had chosen to run his cracked up tale and caused itself to go bankrupt. After all, no one after the Event would want to support a paper that humored conspiracy theories, especially ones by Rorschach.

Audrey fingered the dog-eared edges of the book and frowned thoughtfully. It would probably be a waste of time, she decided, to get the others over. It would save them all time and energy if she just skimmed it, to get a feel for it. If it really were just rants and crazy talk, she would just return the book. If there were anything worthwhile, she would tell the others.

She lifted the cover slightly, but stopped. Audrey stared at the cover and it's imprinted dates. It had once been a handsome book. Now, it was decaying and its tie was torn and useless. It had seen many years of use. For a crazy man, Rorschach had sure wrote a lot. Audrey didn't know why she was hesitating. She sighed and closed her eyes. This was a thrilling moment, but overreacting would only make it difficult to get real information from the journal. She was the leader of a new Crimebusters; she couldn't afford to be emotional.

Summoning up her strength, Audrey opened the cover and flipped to a random page, just to get a general idea. For a moment, the words made no sense; he had terrible penmanship. But focusing, Audrey began to see the words when she realized what she was reading. This was the Holy Grail, the culmination of all her searching and research. Swallowing hard, Audrey realized that if she couldn't find what she wanted from this book, she'd never…

She stopped in mid-page turn, her eyes noticing an entry from 1985. Toward the end of the book, it had to be shortly before his capture and disappearance. This was a good place to start.

But as she read, a coldness swept through her gut. These words…were not…what she had…

" _Rorschach's journal. October 12th, 1985._

_Dog carcass in alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll look down and whisper "No.""_

Audrey's mouth had involuntarily dropped open and her eyes were wide. This was it. This was…the real thing.

" _They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father or President Truman. Decent men who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn't realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloodly Hell, all those liberals and intellectuals and smooth-talkers... and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say."_

Breathless, Audrey stared at the book. Bile churned in her stomach and she felt nauseated. This was disgusting. This was…she looked away, almost dropping the book. "Shit," she said, closing her eyes, trying to get the words out of her head. This guy…he was insane. There was no way a normal person could ever write something like that.

Glancing down at the book, Audrey glared, feeling angry and disgusted. Rorschach had abused his position and power. The people of this city had deserved a hero, not a self-righteous madman. Sure, people made mistakes, but everyone deserved a second chance. Not everyone was a dog that needed to be put down. She wanted to burn the book. It was revolting.

But it was still a primary source. Rorschach had encountered people like Nite Owl and Silk Spectre. He had once been a legal vigilante. That still had something worthwhile about it. Audrey swallowed hard and forced herself to pick the book up. She flipped to another page and forced herself to read.

_"Rorschach's Journal October 13th, 1985  
_ _This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?"_

She shuddered and kept going. She kept flipping pages.

" _Rorschach's Journal.  
October 21_ _st_ _, 1985  
Left Jacobi's house 2:35AM. He knows nothing about attempt to discredit Dr. Manhattan. He has simply been used. By whom? … Comedian referred to an island…. Can't concentrate. Too tired. No sleep since Saturday…Walking home past trashcans stuffed with rumors of war, weighing factors; bodies motives…_"

Something felt wrong. There was something more to this.

" _Waiting for a flash of enlightenment in all this blood and thunder._ "

She flipped back to the beginning, heart beating faster. There was something about his words that stuck out to Audrey, prompting her to read the entries in correct order. Something lurked in that book. Something that would only bring her ill. She should have stopped; she knew it. But that very something compelled her to keep reading. Keep seeking the truth.

The pages flew by, words tumbled in front of her eyes, and slowly, a story unfolded.

" _Rorschach's Journal  
October 13th, 1985, 8:30 P.M.  
Meeting with Veidt left bad taste in mouth. He is pampered and decadent, betraying even his own shallow, liberal affectations…Dreiberg as bad…why are so few of us left active, healthy and without personality disorders?"_

A story about a crusader, a madman, a legend. The last of the masks.

" _October 13th, 1985, 11:30 P.M.  
Because there is good and there is evil, and evil must be punished. Even in the face of Armageddon I shall not compromise in this."_

Names and places she had read about only in articles written by third-part sources were suddenly available in this book, this first hand account of the true Crimebusters. This was the truth, or as close as she could come to getting it.

The man was insane. The newspapers had been right to call him a "terror." He was vicious, a mad dog. His unsightly scrawl was filled with unconscious hate and self-righteous ranting. But his story captured her heart in a vice grip as she went read every last one of his words. A mask-killer. A larger secret going on behind the scenes. The feared Dr. Manhattan. It was all here in a way she had never dreamed believable.

" _November 1_ _st_ _, 1985  
Final entry? Left Veidt's office just before midnight."_

Something stilled inside Audrey's chest.

" _Veidt is faster than Dreiberg. Perhaps faster than me. Return from mission seems unlikely. This last entry. Will shortly mail journal to only people can trust."_

"The _New Frontiersman_ ," whispered Audrey.

"… _tanks are in East Berlin, and writing is on wall."_

A countdown of her beating heart held the rhythm of the words, the imagined voice of this man echoing across her mind.

" _For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise and step into the shadow now without complaint.  
Rorschach, November 1_ _st_ _, 1985."_

"Oh my God," she whispered.

She had seen horror. She knew horror. She had seen a woman shot point blank in the head. She had seen an old man beaten to a bloody mess with a shopping cart. She had once broken a man's face and watched him nearly drown in his own blood.

But this. This…

The story ended on that page, soiled by years of misuse and neglect. There were a few blank pages afterward, in similar condition. They were empty, though. Nothing but dust. Audrey stared at these pages and felt a rawness in her gut gnaw at her innards. There was no need for more words; her knowledge of the timeline of the last twenty years had filled in the gaps.

Audrey dropped the book on the bed, staring out at the wall, unable to do or think much else.

"Oh my god," she repeated, her cracking voice strangely loud in the empty, quiet room.

If this man…this insane, elitist man…was right…if this wasn't all faked…or a hallucination…

This suggested that Veidt…was responsible for the murder of the Comedian. And Edgar Jocobi. He was responsible for exiling Manhattan. He was the mask-killer that Rorschach had tried to stop.

If Rorschach and Nite Owl had gone to Karnak…and found Veidt…and only Veidt returned, that meant Veidt had won. This had been written on November 1st…the day before the Event. The day before the world descended into hell.

It was too perfect and even her chilled mind could see it. The dates and timing matched up. Veidt, and only Veidt, had returned to civilization, to a destroyed world, and had raised it up with his two hands. Created Utopia. Nite Owl II and Silk Spectre II had gone into hiding, living assumed identities for nearly two decades. Hid from the government; and Veidt _was_ the government.

And all the while, Rorschach's sordid life had disappeared into drowning anonymity and misconception.

She had suspected something odd about Veidt. She had suspected something off about his Utopia. But never this. Never something so…so…

Audrey looked down at the journal, crying. She hadn't cried in years, except when she had nightmares, but now, she had reason to. She had spent her entire life dreaming of saving the innocent. She had looked up to Adrian Veidt and his story of how he had once been a mask. But not anymore. This book and its twenty-year-old words had changed everything. Audrey had once believed like the rest of the world had, had once believed in the story of a vengeful blue menace. They had all fallen for the trick of the ages.

Everything…was a lie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANs  
> -I've never been to Riverside, so I made up the interior. Sorry!


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five, in which our heroes get spandex-ed.
> 
> Pardon the descriptions concerning the kids' costumes if you dislike detailed clothing. I wanted to paint an image of the kids before they go out to fight. Just skim those sections if you get bored by them.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"In poverty and other misfortunes of life, true friends are a sure refuge. The young they keep out of mischief; to the old they are a comfort and aid in their weakness, and those in the prime of life they incite to noble deeds."

-Aristotle

* * *

 

Tamila was pissed. She got the call at seven in the morning from Jimmy, who was calling on his way to school. Audrey apparently moved the meeting to that evening. Tamila worked Monday nights. She always worked Monday nights. Audrey knew this and usually respected which days Tamila had to work, to support herself and her mother. But no, this night, Audrey apparently forgot and made a "mandatory" meeting at Jim's house. Tamila, despite how much she adored her younger friend, was pissed.

Apparently, Audrey hadn't been in school that day, faking an illness they all assumed, and called Jimmy in the morning to tell everyone else the change. She didn't explain why and just hung up. She sounded "upset," as he put it, but Tamila wouldn't put it past him to just cover for her. They met immediately after Jimmy had school, around three thirty.

They were damn lucky Jimmy's mother worked Mondays at a YMCA as an aerobics coach from two to six. Jimmy's father never came home before six. That was the only reason Jimmy wasn't freaking out about them being over. Markus had to skip part of his English class at the college and Cesar had to switch his shift with his cousin at his uncle's gun shop. Their costumes weren't even finished, or at least, only hers was. Whatever Audrey's reason for making the switch, it had better been of a life-or-death importance.

And, to top it all off, Audrey was the last to show up.

Sitting on Jimmy's beaten-up basement couch and crunching angrily on pretzel sticks, Tamila was trying her very best _not_ to find a reason to punch Audrey when she did finally grace them with her presence. A small punch, not that painful. Just enough to snap some sense back into her squinty-eyed little skull.

She didn't normally do this, Tamila had to reason. Something had to be up. Something _better_ have been up.

They were just hanging around the basement, not saying much, and that was bothering her, too. Jimmy was toying around with some of his inventions; some taser gloves and some kind of psychotic ground yo-yo that he said was for Audrey's get-up. Markus and Cesar were amusing themselves with a foam ball they found tucked into Mrs. Hollis'—Mrs. Dreiberg, whatever—side of the basement. A mock-football game in the middle of an enclosed half-finished basement would be a funny sight normally, but the rough housing was beginning to wear on Tamila's already-shortened patience.

"She's twenty-minutes late," announced Jimmy. He sounded concerned. Not surprising.

"Maybe the bus is slow or something," offered Markus, making a forced-dramatic throw to Cesar who nabbed it in mid-air behind Jimmy's worktable.

"Maybe she lost her fuckin' mind somewhere," snapped Tamila. Like in a library. Or a book. That girl always seemed to be hiding in one of those places.

Jimmy frowned slightly. "I'm sure she has good reason for this," he said calmly.

"Says you. I just lost fifty-bucks, man," she replied angrily. "I'm lucky I didn't get fired for having to bail like this."

Jimmy held up his hands in a peace-making gesture. "I'm just saying, this isn't like her," he said.

And that was true. But Tamila didn't have to like it. She had good justification to be angry, and so far, Audrey didn't have any for being late or changing the meeting date.

"Maybe we should try on our costumes," said Cesar, pausing in his game. "Just to try it out."

"Let's not until we know Audrey's coming, man," replied Markus, shaking his head. "I ain't getting dressed up in all that 'til I know its not going to be for nothing."

The others murmured in agreement and silence fell over the basement once more. As the seconds ticked on, Tamila felt more and more bitter.

Then, without warning, the doorbell rang. Cesar yelped, dropping the ball, and Tamila jumped in surprise. Jimmy all but ran to the stairs.

"That's her!" he shouted, already halfway up the stairs.

Cesar glared at the stairs, though Jimmy was long gone. "Tell her she better have a good excuse made up by now," he yelled, as he picked up and tossed the ball back at Markus. "It's gonna have to be a good one!"

Snickering, Tamila leaned back against the couch and watched Cesar and Markus make fools of themselves playing indoor football with the foam ball. It was hard to imagine them doing anything but bicker and joke. But that's what these days were for, during daylight hours. They had all seen each other on the streets at night; it was how they met. Even still, Tamila found it difficult to imagine any of them as lethal opponents, not with Jimmy's glasses, Cesar's antics…

"Aud—Audrey! Slow down!"

Sudden thudding overhead made Tamila snap to attention. She looked over at the stairs and saw a dark haired woman nearly tumble down them and slam into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. It was Audrey. As Jimmy rushed down after her, Audrey was already off to the center of the room. Tamila stood up swiftly, instantly on guard. The shorter girl's hair was messy, she wasn't wearing any make-up and her clothes were barely up to par. She may have stayed home from school, but she was always conscious of how she looked outside, in case one of her fake-friends from school spotted her out and about. Audrey looked as though she just fell out of bed. She had a wild look in her eyes that made Tamila stop and stare in shock.

"Is everyone here?" Audrey demanded, her voice hoarse. She was out of breath.

"Audrey, what's wrong?" asked Markus, shocked. He and Cesar had stopped messing around and everyone seemed to converge on her in the center of the room.

Audrey looked like she was trying not to be terrified, but was failing. "Listen, I had to sneak out of my house, since I told my mom I was sick," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I-I ran most of the way. Gimme a second."

She leaned on her knees and tried to breath normally. Jimmy approached her slowly, but seemed afraid to touch her. Tamila watched Audrey warily.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" asked Cesar, eyes narrowed.

"You're pale as shit, girl," added Tamila, leaning in to get a better look at Audrey's face.

There were dark circles under Audrey's eyes, definitely from sleep loss and not a fist. It was still alarming. The girl looked positively freaked. Used to seeing the younger woman in control and sensible, this change was startling to Tamila. Not much scared Audrey.

Jimmy looked worried as he maneuvered himself in front of Audrey and grabbed her arms. "Hey, sit down," he said, concerned. Audrey tried to say no, but he was already pushing her toward the couch, where the others crowded around. "What the hell happened?"

Audrey sat, but stared at the ground. "I…" she began, but choked. Her breathing was almost normal. Tamila frowned, feeling more and more apprehensive. This wasn't normal.

"I couldn't talk to you any sooner. I…I didn't' want to involve you guys yet," Audrey continued, her voice quaking strangely. She looked back up at them with her wide eyes. "I mean, I didn't want…to scare anyone, you know?"

"About what?" asked Markus. He knelt down in front of her. He looked sort of like Tamila felt; unsure but concerned. "You run into the cops or something?"

Audrey made a strange laugh and shook her head. "No, no, not the cops," she said, shaking now. "I should have told you guys what I was doing. Sorry. I didn't want to…to raise the alarms."

"About _what_?" Jimmy demanded firmly, getting closer as well.

Staring at him, and only at him, Audrey suddenly grew still. "I found it. I found Rorschach's journal," she said quietly.

For a moment no one said anything. Tamila stared at Audrey's face, trying to understand what she said. It didn't click for a few seconds. Then, she remembered two weeks ago, at the "research party." She remembered Rorschach. _No way…_

"You what?" Jimmy asked, getting there first.

Audrey opened her mouth but hesitated. "I…I found it at the Riverside library in Manhattan. On Sunday," she said. "After we met in the lot. I brought it home with me." She reached up and unzipped her jacket. Something brown and square fell out onto her lap. She fumbled and picked it up, holding it not too close, but not that far away from her chest. She looked down at it with that strange look again. "I…I didn't call you because I didn't know if it was worth sharing."

Tamila stared at the book, intrigued, and suddenly, felt a building sense of excitement. She hadn't expected, ever, that the journal would be find-able. It was so old, so useless now. But Audrey was good at finding stuff, good with books.

"Well?" asked Cesar, looking similarly excited. "Let's see it!" He reached out, as if to take the book.

It would have gone better if he had just shoved a knife into her face. Audrey's white face went even paler and she leaned away into the couch, her eyes wide, and a terrified look appeared on her face. The book was brought into a fierce hug against her chest, her knuckles turning nearly opaque from the death grip she had over it. Cesar flinched back in shock and the others stared at the mute girl with uncertainty.

"Audrey?" began Jimmy, wary.

"I…I can't let you read this. It's…it's…oh, god," Audrey whispered. She closed her eyes tightly and looked sick. "I shouldn't have read it. Oh, god _damn_ it."

Tamila stared down at her, bewildered. "Audrey, come on," she said, brow furrowed. "Look at me. Come on, stop that." This was beginning to freak _her_ out.

Audrey looked up at her and Tamila could see tears shining in her eyes. "This is so fucked up," she said so quietly, it was almost a whisper. "I-I can't help but think…I'm afraid that…that this is real. That Rorschach…wasn't crazy."

That was…not good. Not normal. Tamila didn't have a word for it. She stared Audrey and tried desperately to understand what she was rambling. Whatever had been in the journal, it was bad news. Her eyes darted down to the old journal warily. It looked like a book, but what lay inside had to be big. Huge. Disastrous.

"What did the journal say?" asked Jimmy, quietly. Tamila glanced down at him and was surprised he hadn't blown it yet. He was usually bad at dealing with real people, but Audrey seemed calmer with his guidance.

Said-young woman was trying to collect herself and closed her eyes. Tamila crouched down beside her friend and laid a comforting hand on her knee. She couldn't remember a time where it was her comforting Audrey, who acted far more mature than her real age, even when they met back three years ago, when Tamila was beating gangsters with bats and Audrey was using her dad's karate skills on crooks. The younger girl had always been the calmer one, telling Tamila to stop and breathe. The role reversal was disturbing. She had never seen this kid so screwed up.

"It's…it goes up to the day before the Event," Audrey began hurriedly, as if they were all running out of time to hear. "Rorschach…he's messed up. God, he's so fucked up in the head, I could barely understand what he meant to say."

"We already knew that," joked Markus gently. Tamila smiled briefly up at him. He _was_ the people-person, the nice guy. "Go on, Drey."

"I read most of it. I shouldn't have," Audrey repeated, getting a bit hyped up again. Tamila tightened her grip on her knee, hoping to calm her down. "He…he was investigating the murder of the Comedian. He was obsessed with the idea of a mask-killer. He thought someone was gunning for them all, like, big time."

"But…only the Comedian was killed," interrupted Cesar, confused.

Audrey shook her head. "Adrian Veidt was almost assassinated," she said. Tamila hmm'ed thoughtfully; she remembered reading that bit. "T-then…" Audrey hesitated. "Manhattan left."

She paused and that was _really_ weird. Tamila glanced up and exchanged with Cesar a similar frown. She looked back down and stared long and hard into Audrey's face. She still seemed distraught, but now, Tamila couldn't understand why.

"Manhattan left because of the news conference that went bad, Audrey," said Jimmy hesitantly, voicing what they all were probably thinking.

"Not according to this journal," she said, meeting his eyes. "Jimmy…this is huge. Rorschach…he was onto something big. _Big_." She took a shuddering breath. "He thought it was suspicious that Manhattan left. He…he started investigating other things. Pyramid International had backed the Veidt assassin. That led him to Jacobi. It doesn't really say, but you can tell it wasn't Rorschach. It doesn't add up. He didn't have a reason to murder Jacobi."

Tamila stared at Audrey, struck speechless. That was impossible. The murder of Edgar Jacobi was the metaphorical nail in the Crimebusters' coffin. Rorschach had been arrested for it. It had obviously been him. That was the crime that really made the masked-adventurer thing a bad one. Everyone knew about it.

For some reason, a cold chill swept up her arms.

"He got out of jail with Nite Owl and Silk Spectre. Silk Spectre…went to Mars with Manhattan to convince him to come back, to stop Russia and the U.S. from fighting," Audrey said, her voice picking up speed again, leaving no room for interruption. If any of them did, Tamila had a feeling it would take forever to get her to speak again. "Nite Owl and Rorschach went to investigate. Hollis Mason was killed in a riot. They found out more on Pyramid and went to ask Veidt for help finding out more." She stopped, swallowed and exhaled shakily. "Th-they went to his office, but he wasn't there. They found computer files. Veidt Enterprises was backing Pyramid I-International. He…Veidt…"

Audrey stopped and forced herself to calm down. Tamila stared at her friend, feeling colder and colder. The others had grown still, but Tamila found herself focusing only on Audrey.

Suddenly, she understood the definition of the word "foreboding."

"They went to find him, at Karnak, his research facility in Antarctica," Audrey managed to say. She was getting choked up again. "The journal ends with Rorschach saying that and then saying he was putting the journal somewhere safe, in safe hands."

"That newspaper," whispered Markus. "The _New_ …"

"Frontiersman," finished Jimmy, also focused on Audrey.

Audrey shook her head sadly. "That was the last entry," she said. "Rorschach never came back from Antarctica to reclaim the journal."

Tamila's stomach flipped.

"What does that mean?" asked Jimmy, confused.

"Jimmy," began Audrey, her garbled voice strangely loud, "that entry was dated November 1, 1985."

Silence fell over the basement. Four pairs of eyes were pinned on Audrey, who was struggling not to cry. Tamila stared and stared at her best friend. Her mind was doing its best not to listen to her words, because she knew they weren't just words. Something was going on. Something was wrong.

"What…what does that mean?" Cesar asked finally. He sounded unsure, wary.

Jimmy swallowed mechanically. "That was the day before the Event."

"The day before Adrian Veidt came back to New York to be its savior," added Audrey, bitterly, crying now. She wiped her eyes angrily. "Your parents had to hide. Manhattan never came back. Rorschach…Rorschach just vanished. Probably killed on November 2nd in Antarctica."

"What are you…sayin'?" Tamila managed to ask, her voice tight. Her head was spinning.

"Tammy…think about it," said Audrey, coughing slightly. "Adrian Veidt was rich back then, but he was just a business man and famous face. Now, he's like god. Don't you think it's a bit weird that he stepped in so quickly after the Event happened?"

Cesar shook his head slowly, wary. "Audrey, Veidt's rich, but he ain't some super villain. He fixed up New York," he began.

"And then became president!" snapped Audrey, glaring up at him.

"Dr. Manhattan definitely attacked earth, though," Jimmy interrupted, frowning. "It's a fact. His energy signature's, like, unmistakable or something, right?"

"Dr. Manhattan has the power to blow earth up five times over," Audrey said, her voice growing louder and angrier with each word, "so why did he only stop with ten cities?!"

Tamila stared at Audrey. She had no idea what to say. There was nothing to say, not from her.

"Are you suggesting that Manhattan didn't attack us?" demanded Cesar, shocked.

"He had no reason to attack us. He left because he felt no attachment to us," countered Audrey adamantly. "Why would someone with no attachment to humanity decide to attack us in revenge?! He didn't feel! He didn't care about us either way! Why would he blow parts of us up—and then not finish the job?!"

Imagines of a blue man with soulless eyes popped up in Tamila's mind and she shivered again. Over and over again, in grade school and at home by listening to family survivors, she had been told about the great blue menace that had nearly taken her own life. She had been born that year, in 1985. She had missed the would-be apocalypse by a month. She had always known Dr. Manhattan. He was the enemy, an invisible one, known only by name. Children spoke his name like the boogey man.

To even consider him innocent of his crimes was insane.

While she was growing more withdrawn, Cesar was becoming more and more frazzled. "You think that Veidt did this?" he asked, his voice booming overhead.

"I don't know what to think!" cried Audrey, upset again. She threw up her arms into the air and let out a frustrated yell. "I mean—I mean, I don't know what to believe. This is all so surreal. It's…it's too plausible." She closed her eyes and let out a choked sob. "My head's so messed up right now."

Tamila wanted to hug the kid. She looked so damn pitiful, there was no way she was exaggerating or lying. Whatever she had read, it had screwed up something inside. Tamila glanced down at the journal and suddenly wanted to burn it.

"How is this even _plausible_?" demanded Cesar, not giving up. "Veidt had no reason to…to attack those cities!"

Eyes snapping open, Audrey looked up at him. "And _he_ ," she began, gesturing with the journal, "had no reason to _lie_!"

"Audrey, he was crazy!" exclaimed Jimmy, shocked.

"What if he wasn't?" she demanded, distraught. "He was eccentric and probably a little nuts, but why would he lie about someone he respected?" Audrey waved the journal in his face, angry. "You should read about how he's bitching and whining about how the Crimebusters 'gave up' and 'quit'! He wanted these guys to be his allies again! He respected them for what they did before, as heroes! Why would he tarnish one of the best of them?!"

"Yet again, I stress, he was _fucking nuts_ ," Jimmy said, stressing the words with surprising building anger.

"Not crazy enough to not be able to collect evidence, to suspect a killer and then, suddenly, find out something that points to something he never expected, or wrote about earlier. He never once mentioned Veidt as a suspect until the last entry," Audrey replied emotionally. "That wasn't planned. He…he was just as shocked as I was."

"This whole thing could be just one big lie or collection of hallucinations," snapped Jimmy. "There's nothing to prove or disprove this, Audrey!"

Audrey flinched and opened her mouth to speak, but didn't. She just kind of stared at him in shock, trapped between emotions. Tamila closed her own eyes and tried to clear her thoughts, which had a cloud of hysteria now building up overtop. She tried not to think about the notion that Adrian Veidt had killed millions of people only to govern those who remained years later. She tried not to imagine it was possible that Dr. Manhattan was innocent and that an entire generation of people had grown up living a lie.

Try as she might, that _damn_ what--if kept coming back. She felt sick all over.

"Alright," began Markus slowly. His deep voice was like medication for Tamila's building headache, which she only then realized was forming. "Why don't we, for now, just agree to disagree?"

"I'm not saying that I-I believe this," began Audrey, her voice thick.

Markus shook his head. "I'm not saying you do," he replied gently. "Just take a breather and relax for a sec, Audrey."

Audrey dropped her head into her hands, but seemed to be trying to calm down. Tamila stared at her and then at Jimmy; he looked guilty, like he usually did when he had to raise his voice. Cesar just looked uncomfortable, but that was normal for the socially inept Hispanic; Tamila smirked up at him and then at Markus. Smiles made everything seem better, even if it wasn't.

"This really screwed you up, huh, kid?" asked Markus, still talking calmly. He reached down and ruffled Audrey's messy hair. She yelped and pulled away. Markus just grinned down at her.

Audrey sighed, but much to everyone else's relief. "I don't know what to think now. Rorschach…I _know_ he was crazy," she said, miserable. "But it's too weird. The dates, the timeline that is fact…it adds up. It matches his journal." She let out a shuddering sigh. "What if it is true?"

"I don't want to think about it," said Tamila grimly. "Please. Let's just drop it."

"You'd rather live a lie that find out the truth?" demanded Audrey, looking at her harshly.

"Ignorance is bliss, baby," she replied smoothly, though she knew that wasn't the case. Now that the question was out there, all five of them were going to be thinking about it. All the time. Shit.

Jimmy stood and looked at them all with a severe expression. "Okay, so we have a problem. We overcome it," he said. Tamila tried not to smile; words words words. Jimmy sure liked them words, even if they didn't do much. "We drop the conversation, return the journal and watch our backs for the next few days. We focus on our own agendas and maybe, if we have the opportunity, can look more into the whole…Veidt thing."

"Easy to say that. Try to explain that to my nightmares," murmured Audrey, looking at the ground glumly.

"Why _did_ you run here?" asked Cesar, suddenly thoughtful. "You look like you just outran the cops or somethin'."

"I…" Audrey stopped and looked strangely embarrassed. "I…was a little paranoid." She stopped again. "I kinda took the book anonymously and even if this may be a hoax, Veidt or some other government body might be, I don't know, monitoring the book? Someone might know I have it."

Everything stopped and all eyes focused on her again. She looked nervous. Markus made a face and whistled lowly. "Oh, shiiiiit."

"I didn't want to talk on the phone or lead anyone here for that reason," continued Audrey, grimacing.

It was easy to forget, after all, that what they were doing was still illegal. Vigilantism was jail-worthy, apparently. Having the book could be dangerous. Tamila frowned darkly and crossed her arms.

"Well," began Jimmy, smiling slightly, "I doubt Veidt's gonna care about the book, but let's return it ASAP and move on, ok?"

Audrey nodded hesitatingly, but that was enough for the others it seemed. Tamila nodded back at her and smiled. "Good idea," she said.

"I'm sorry for being such a spazz," said Audrey, speaking to everyone.

"Hey, it's a freaky subject," replied Cesar dismissively, but everyone could tell he was messing around. Even Audrey cracked a smile. "But if we get stalked by the cops or the Happiness Inquisition, we'll know who the blame."

"Thanks, Cesar," laughed Audrey. She was definitely perkier than before.

"So…anyone up to doing what we agreed upon doing at the meeting?" asked Jimmy, smiling.

Tamila snorted and held up her duffel bag that had been lying in front of the couch. Markus and Cesar agreed verbally and even Audrey made a slight nod.

"It's not done yet, but I did bring what I had in a bag…" she said. She stopped and then smiled nervously. "Ah ha, I left it in the foyer."

"Yeah. I seem to recall you throwing it at my head and then falling down the stairs," replied Jimmy, smirking.

Audrey made a face at him and stood up. She seemed to be retaining her usual dignity. "I may be the co-leader of a crime-fighting group, but I'm still human," she said, jokingly. "Humans get emotional."

"Please, act more like the emotionless alien-Asian hybrid you usually are," said Cesar, making a pained face. "I can't take this kind of stress."

The others cracked up and Tamila shook her head, chuckling. Oh, yeah, no one in their right mind could suspect them, of all people, to be crime fighters. No way.

"Well, let's get changed!" said Markus cheerfully.

Tamila and Audrey went upstairs and the boys remained in the basement. Tamila claimed the bathroom in the foyer and Audrey went into the kitchen. When the bathroom door closed, Tamila looked down and stared at the bag that held a rather ridiculous outfit which was supposed to be hers. The bag almost seemed to leer up at her and she grimaced. It was stupid to be embarrassed to wear such a costume, even if it was really did look embarrassing. The only people that would see her were the crooks on the streets. And hopefully, the only thing they'd see of her were her fists. Hopefully.

So, she gathered up her own dignity and got changed. It was awkward and she felt increasingly paranoid about walking around in broad daylight in leather and a mask, but it was nice to see everyone is costume at least one time in the daylight. Lord knows they'd never get a clear shot at night.

Tamila looked into the mirror as she pulled back her dreds into a ponytail and picked up her mask. It was some kind of stretchy fabric she had found at the craft store. It had just called out to her when she saw it. The fabric was this light purple color that just worked. She had cut out eye holes and made it just the right legth so it slid over her head like a bandana. It covered her eyes and most of her nose. It'd work as a mask. She just hoped no one paid attention to how silly it seemed in the light.

No one was in the hallway when she left the bathroom. Tamila walked around tensely, peering into the kitchen warily. No one was there, so she went back to the basement stairwell. She looked around nervously; no one was there. Yet. The image of Mr. or Mrs. Hollis walking in on her now was too much to bear; she didn't know whether it would be hilarious or just terrifying.

Not wasting any time, Tamila climbed down the stairs, hurrying. It felt wrong to just be standing around in this get-up. She did pause halfway down the stairs, because as Tamila looked over at the center of the basement, she got a good first look at the others. She only recognized them because she knew them, but if she ever met them on the street, she probably would have a hard time. That was a good sign, she thought, smirking.

The first person she looked over at was Cesar; he was the most…odd to look at. The bottom part of his costume was pretty simple: tan boots, black pants and a massive belt that had all these cases and boxes; definitely for ammo. He was wearing a black shirt with a high collar and, from what it looked like to Tamila, a fishing vest. It was definitely that, or some sort of fancy military jacket with a zillion pockets and zippers. He could fit his entire arsenal in that jacket.

But his head…Tamila had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing hysterically. She didn't know where it came from or why he even had it, but on Cesar's head was a hat…in the shape of a dog's head. It had fur. It had ears. It was like some kind of bomber hat, complete with earflaps, but it had the "forehead" of a dog's upper jaw. It had _eyes_ , for god's sake. Definitely a dog. Or something canine. It was cream and brown colored. It was more disturbing than anything else, but the whole outfit combined was hilarious. Apparently Cesar was going to try to amuse their opponents into submission.

Ha.

The next one she focused on was Audrey. She was wearing some sort of jacket-shirt hybrid that had a nice flair in the back but a large hood to cover her head. She definitely went crazy with the sewing with all the details, even if it wasn't done yet. She had a large belt with several clips; she obviously was going to add some extra treats from Jimmy's collection of tech. She had boots on that would scare the shit out of some juvie in an alley. The tight black kapris were a nice touch, Tamila's fashionable sense added. She almost laughed out loud; fashionable was just not what Audrey was aiming for in this business.

The kicker was when Audrey turned around: on the back of the coat was a stitched on smiley face.

"What are you supposed to be, Bozo the Clown?" laughed Tamila, starting to down the stairs.

"Name's Gestalt," replied Audrey automatically, turning around to face her. She stopped and then stared at Tamila.

At the foot of the stairs, Tamila froze as all the others seemed to stop and stare at her with strange expressions. She didn't know what the problem was until she heard a faint snicker.

Without any warning, Cesar burst out laughing and Jimmy fell behind the desk, trying to hold back laughter. Audrey gave Tamila a bug eyed expression. Only Markus remained somewhat calm; there was a nasty little smirk on his face.

"Shut. Up," Tamila growled out, stomping forward. She liked her costume. She thought it was practical.

"You look like a _Lucha Libre_!" howled Cesar, literally hysterical with laughter. He was leaning on the couch for support. "Oh, my God!"

Eye twitching, Tamila stopped just short of the couch and glared down at him. "And this is coming from the boy who looks like some dead dog dressed like Rambo who got run over by a truck," she snarled angrily. "What the hell are you supposed to be? Dog-Man? Should I call you Bitch now?"

"Aw, screw you," Cesar said, laughing still. He stood up straighter and like some rooster, puffed out his chest and tugged at his vest smugly. Audrey and Markus were laughing now, but Tamila couldn't tell at whom. "I'm The Coyote."

Tamila scowled. "What the hell?"

"The Coyote is an old Mexican legend," Cesar began, grinning ear to ear, which looked ridiculous. "My grandmother used to tell us kids about it."

"I thought it was a Native American legend," interrupted Jimmy, still laughing as he stood up behind the desk.

"My grandmother was Costanoan," replied Cesar, frowning over at him. "Anyway, I remembered the stories and I got this idea. The Coyote was the trickster. He was like one of the major players in the legends, you know? I wanted to honor my roots, you know, when I do this hero stuff. Like living history."

Tamila sneered. "Fuck that. Your name is Roadkill."

"No, its not!"

"What's your name, Tam?" asked Audrey, giggling. Tamila took a moment to smile back at the younger girl; she looked way better than she had earlier.

"I couldn't think of anything, really." Tamila shrugged. "How bout Dark Squall?"

Jimmy made an approving face and nodded. "Sounds menacing," he complimented.

Tamila smirked. "Thanks. So, you still goin' wit Nite Owl III or what?" she asked, peering around to get a better look at his costume.

From what she remembered of the old Crimebusters' photo, Jimmy wasn't that off from Nite Owl II's costume. It was some kind of shiny material—probably spandex or a knock-off 'cause there was no way any of them could afford that much real leather—that made up a kinda-fit body suit. It was black, but it was different than the old one. Slimmer and less…ornate. No designs, save light gold crescents stitched onto his arms and back of his heels, that he displayed as he turned around in front of them. There was a larger one on his chest, which was a bit shiny in the light. No cape, a rather empty utility belt and a hood of some kind. Tamila mentally noted how Jimmy suddenly didn't look like a nerd. A weirdo perhaps to the normal person, but to the rest of them, he was shaping up, strangely.

"I'm Nite Hawk," Jimmy said, awkwardly. He grinned nervously, as if afraid of everyone's response.

He did, however, reach up and pull up his hood/mask. It was similar to the old Nite Owl's mask, as it went down to the bridge of his nose and came up again on bottom of his chin. It was all black again with two angled points at the top. The eyes were made up of some kind of lenses that were dark. In the dark, there would be no way Tamila could tell it was him.

"Damn, man, that's badass," said Cesar, whistling. He nodded. "Nice, man. You did good with it." Jimmy beamed.

Audrey frowned slightly. "Is that material durable?" she asked, serious. Tamila smirked. Of course she would want to know that.

"It's not that sturdy when it comes to brute force, but it should hold up to swipes and stuff. It's really hard to cut, it's so stretchy," said Jimmy, losing his cheerful look. He frowned down at his own costume, as if having second doubts.

"Well," began Markus, sounding just as uncomfortable as Audrey, "quick check, people. Safety ratings on costumes?"

Tamila frowned, but looked down at herself. She had minimal coverage on her upper body. Her shirt consisted of a piece of leather she had managed to obtain that she had wound creatively into a kind of halter-top. She thought it had looked cool, and when she thought about it seriously, it definitely added to her mobility. She wouldn't have to worry about pulling a Dollar (as they so loving referred to the cape-in-door business) and she wouldn't get overheated. On her lower body, she just opted for some black leather pants and chucks. There was a knife belt tied around her lower calve and at her waist there was a belt she could attach any weapon to. Her bat was a definite.

Markus made a tsk-ing sound that caught her attention. When she looked up, the older man was frowning at her in particular. Upon her making a 'what?' expression, Markus sighed and pointed at her.

"Nice stomach," he said, chuckling.

Straightening up, Tamila frowned at him. "Hey, it adds to the mobility," she said defensively. And showed off her abs. Double win.

"The fabric you used for the mask and pants aren't really durable," said Audrey, now noticing Tamila's outfit as well. Inwardly, Tamila felt like sighing; this was so tedious when it shouldn't have been. "The mask covers your entire head from the middle of the nose up, but how's that gonna protect against knife violence?"

She didn't give Tamila a chance to say anything before looking at Jimmy. "The fabric may be stretchy, but it's not really protective against anything. Remember to get some more armor or something," she said. She looked over at Cesar. "Same to you. Watch your vitals."

"Yeah. Watch your joints and stuff. We need to make sure our vital areas are covered with something hard. Like leather or maybe some sort of padding," said Markus, looking around at them. "This is gonna be costly, but our lives are more important than money, right?"

"Say that to a member of the working class," murmured Cesar darkly. Tamila snickered.

Markus laughed dryly, glaring at the other man. "Option: death, or saving up a few extra dollars?" he asked.

Making a face, Cesar nodded stiffly. "Point," he agreed.

"So, beef up the costumes a bit and more coverage. Gotcha," replied Tamila. She didn't really want to change her costume, but they really did have a point. They had to play this as safe as possible. "Because real leather is totally gonna hold up against a bullet," she added sarcastically.

Audrey sent her a dark look. "Well, I think it would do a better job than walking around in bare skin," she said, adding emphasis by nodding firmly in her direction.

Tamila made a face back at her. "Well, I think I'm sexy, so I don't care." Cesar and Jimmy laughed and even Audrey managed a smile.

"So who are you, Markus?" asked Jimmy, turning to the other man suddenly. Tamila moved over a bit to take in Markus' get-up.

Markus grinned sheepishly and silently raised his arms for them to get a better look at his costume, turning around for effect. He was wearing a tight red short-sleeved shirt with a black lightening bolt stitched into the center. He had plain black pants, that were amusingly tight, and black work boots. He had somehow crafted pretty realistic looking silver shoulder guards; upon closer inspection, Tamila realized they were real metal. He had arm guards with metal accents. The best part was his head; he had a bona fide metal Viking helmet, minus the horns. It was like the Comedian meeting the Juggernaut from those X-Men comics. The whole thing was ridiculous and yet looked so flawless.

"Name's Blitzkrieg," he said, grinning, upon facing them again. "That's German for lightening-war, right?"

Cesar cursed violently, which made them all jump. He pointed accusingly at Markus, though he had a strangely upset look on his face.

"Damn it, man, that name's awesome! Why didn't I think of that?!" he moaned.

The others laughed and Markus shook his head. "Finders keepers, man," he said, his chuckles resonating deeply in his chest.

"You look terrifying. Ready for an opera?" asked Audrey, snorting.

Markus arched an eyebrow—which just made Tamila crack up at the sight of—and smirked. "I'm ready to scare the shit out of some drug dealers who don't know what an opera is," he replied, making all of them laugh.

Tamila opened her mouth to add something snarky, but without warning, the floorboard just before the basement stairs creaked. That only happened when someone was about to walk down the stairs. The last time she checked, they were the only ones home.

Later, she'd laugh about how messed up their priorities were. Moments ago, they had been worried about the Happiness Inquisition finding them. Instead of rising to the defensive or getting ready for a fight, _they scattered like chickens_.

" _SHIT_!"

Of course, Cesar had to shout profanities as he fell behind the worktable with Jimmy. Tamila herself latched onto Audrey's arm and nearly threw both of them into the closet under the stairs, where all the pipes were. Markus, she had no idea what happened to him. All she remembered thinking was, _oh my God, where's my shirt?_

"Jim? Guys?" echoed a voice overhead. A familiar one. An older one.

 _Shit_.

"H-hi dad!" called Jimmy from behind the table.

From in the closet, Tamila could see Jimmy and Cesar crouched behind the table, looking positively freaked. Jimmy was smart and instead of ripping the costume off, he just took off the hood and slipped the shirt on over top. Cesar was a bit more panicked as a he ripped his hat off, the vest and kicked off his boots clumsily.

"Hey, are your friends over?" asked Mr. Hollis—Daniel—Mr. Dreiberg—oh, fuck it—Mr. Hollis.

Audrey was breathing heavily as she took off her jacket and boots, throwing them to the side. Tamila was beginning to freak mentally— _where the_ fuck _is my shirt?!_ —and could only really take off her mask. She made a grab for Audrey's jacket, but Audrey was already on the move. She ducked out of the closet, with the coat and shoes in arm, and stumbled into the center of the room.

Mr. Hollis had already been standing at the bottom of the stairs, but Audrey's abrupt appearance seemed to surprise him. Audrey grinned and laughed nervously.

"Hi, Mr. Hollis!" she said brightly. "How are you?"

 _Talk to him. Talk him blind while I find my fucking shirt_ , Tamila prayed mentally, clawing around the closet for anything to wear. It was pointless; her clothes were upstairs in the bathroom.

"Uh, fine, Audrey. What are you guys doing?" asked Mr. Hollis, trying to sound like the politely intrigued parent and not the nosy kind. Tamila had always known where Jimmy had inherited his awkwardness from.

"Halloween!" came Markus' cheerful voice. Tamila couldn't see him, but she would bet anything that his helmet and shoulder guards were gone and he looked relatively normal. "We're going as punk rockers."

 _What_? Tamila squinted at the out-of-sight Markus, questioning his sanity. Shaking her head, she moved back over to the door and looked around cautiously. Jimmy had moved around to face his father and they were talking about fake Halloween party plans. It sounded believable. While the three talkers distracted Mr. Hollis, Tamila looked for Cesar. He was still behind the desk, looking terribly awkward.

Seeing this as her only chance, Tamila motioned with her arm until Cesar finally looked up. He gave her a questioning look and she moved closer.

"Give me your shirt," she mouthed, almost hissing the words.

Cesar gave her a 'what the hell? no!' expression, which she countered with a quick flip of the middle finger and a 'do it now!' look. He shook his head firmly and she continued to glare. Her glare was menacing; even Audrey could fall whim to it. Cesar looked torn, eyes darting up to where Mr. Hollis was and back to Tamila's increasingly irate face.

Then, the little grease ball threw her his vest.

Tamila almost dove out of the closet to attack Cesar. His vest was big, but her outfit was so awkward. On the streets, sure, it'd be badass to wear while beating up crooks. But in front of her friend's dad in a fluorescent-lit basement? Not so cool.

"What the fuck," she whispered angrily, putting on the vest hurriedly. It would have to do. It covered her chest and her stomach; it was more like a tent than anything else. She'd just have to put up with it until she could run upstairs…

Cesar was already standing and had moved around to converse with false cheerfulness with Mr. Hollis. The group had practically swarmed the older man, who was looking a bit out of place. Tamila frowned; it was totally obvious they were up to something, but she had to roll with it now.

So, after hiding her mask under the vest, Tamila stepped out of the closet with as much dignity as she could muster. Only Markus really noticed her and gave her a silent cue to step up. Heart-racing, Tamila approached the group and waved at Mr. Hollis, who just noticed her.

"Hi, Mr. Hollis," said Tamila awkwardly, smiling tightly.

Mr. Hollis smiled politely and nodded at her. "Nice to see you again, Tamila," he said. He was definitely a genuine sweetie, Tamila had to give him that much credit.

"You like the costumes?" asked Cesar breathless.

Mr. Hollis laughed and nodded. "You'll knock 'em dead at the costume party," he said. They all laughed with him, nervously.

"Well, I really have to get going," began Audrey, glancing down at her watch. "My mom's expecting me back soon."

"Yeah, I got work," Markus added quickly.

"My mom's gonna want me home for dinner," said Cesar, not missing a beat.

 _So tactful, guys_ , Tamila thought dryly. "I might as well get going too," she said, inching toward the stairs. "I'll go get changed now."

"Okay, well, have a safe trip home, all of you," said Mr. Hollis.

Tamila almost bolted up the stairs. She climbed up them at record speeds, beating past Audrey, and almost dove head first into the hall bathroom. She slammed the door shut and hurriedly changed into her normal clothes. She chucked everything save Cesar's vest into her bag and left the bathroom, looking both ways, as if waiting for someone to jump out at her. She had never felt so paranoid in such a _goddamn_ normal situation.

Markus had already left and Cesar was just out the door. He had even bothered to change and was clutching at his dog-hat. Clenching her teeth together, Tamila waved blindly at Audrey who had gone toward the bathroom to get changed. Her eyes were pinned to the back of Cesar's head, however.

Just as he stepped out onto the stoop, Tamila reached out and smacked Cesar hard on his shoulder. He yelped and gave her a scathing look. "What was that for?!"

"One, for the poor dog you killed for that hat, and two, for being a jerk," she snapped angrily, marching forward onto the sidewalk, steaming mad.

Cesar let out a startled noise. "I'm not a jerk!" he yelled. He paused and then took off after her, now sounding upset. "And I found the hat at a flea market, I swear!"

_Watch out, New York. Here we come._

**0000000000**

"You sure have a lot of fun friends, Jim. Way more than I ever did," laughed Sam Hollis, as if there were no awkward silence between them and Jimmy wasn't trying to escape up the stairs to his room when they were the only ones remaining in the house.

"Yeah," replied Jimmy, smiling as brightly as he could. "They're the best."

"Punk rockers, huh?" continued his dad, making an approving face. "I'm sure the costumes are going to look great. You should ask your mother for some accessories or something. I'm sure she'd have something fun for the girls to wear."

"Yeah, dad." Jimmy's legs itched; he wanted to run up those stairs so bad…

Sam Hollis made an amused face. "I don't know if you know, but right before you were born, there were costumed heroes running around," he said. "You might get some good ideas by looking at some of those pictures. I'm sure they'd be wacky enough for your tastes."

If that wasn't an opening, Jimmy didn't know what was. He stared at his father, a little shocked. Sam didn't sound suspicious, or goading, or as if he were trying to pick a fight. He was trying to be normal. But as Jimmy watched his father and his face, he saw tiny things. A twitch under the eye, the tight smile, the strain in his voice. A week ago, he'd never think anything odd about those things. But now, they were like blaring sirens. It was so tempting. It might have backfired, but Jimmy knew that this was his only chance.

Why not?

"You know a lot about superheroes, dad?" he asked. He was starting to sweat now. There was this solid feeling in his stomach, like his entire body was trying to pull away from the conversation. "Wanna share something?"

The change, again minute, was blazingly obvious in Jimmy's newly opened eyes. His father pulled back just slightly, held onto a sigh, and his eyes darted a bit toward the stairs. Jimmy felt cold all of a sudden.

"Superheroes…they're kind of a messy topic, Jim," his father said slowly. He smiled and patted Jimmy on the back and Jimmy tried to not imagine those hands as the hands of a fighter, a legend. "Stick to the punk rocker image. That's more fun, I think."

"Right," murmured Jimmy. He wanted to ask more. He wanted to just tell his father exactly what they had been doing and why that meant so much to them. Why it should mean something to his father.

There were still things to do. He had several pages of homework to complete and then, he wanted to finish his costume. Now, he could work without much suspicion. His mother would still frown at the idea of him using the sewing machine, but at this point in the game, Jimmy didn't much care what the so-called Sandra Hollis had to say…

A large hand—which had always been bigger than his—suddenly fell on his shoulder. "You all right, Jimbo?" his father asked.

Jimmy looked up and saw his father staring down at him with mild concern and an unsure smile. He must have been standing there with a morose look on his face, Jimmy realized. Summoning up as much energy as he could muster, Jimmy laughed and moved away. "I'm fine, D…dad." Oh, it would be _so_ easy to let that name slip…

Sam frowned, but lowered his hand. "Okay…but if you ever want to talk…" he said, trailing off. He was trying to sound supportive, non-intrusive and still concerned all at the same time. His dad was so good, it was almost painful to watch. Jimmy stared into his aging face and wondered just how a man like him could live a lie for so long.

"I'm fine really," said Jimmy, nodding. He started to head up the stairs, conversation over.

But his foot stopped itself just as he went to pull himself up another step. He stopped, frozen by a new train of thought. He knew it was a bad idea to continue this conversation. It was risky. But he was used to risks. He risked his life those nights he managed to sneak out and fight crime on the streets in his neighborhood. He was risking everything by joining the new Crimebusters. He risked everything he had with Audrey as a friend by making it known to her that he wanted something more. He was used to risks.

"…hey, dad?" he called, louder than he should. His father was standing right there, after all. Jimmy didn't turn around to look, however.

"Yes?" asked Sam, surprised, trying not to sound overly eager to hear Jimmy's story.

Jimmy bit his lip, and although his stomach seemed to quake sporadically, he continued. "…Do you remember Nite Owl?"

The silence that followed wasn't too long or awkward. Jimmy turned slowly and faced his father. Sam Hollis was just standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking back up at Jimmy with a confused, maybe-surprised face.

"You mean, uh, Hollis Mason?" asked Sam, stumbling just ever so slightly.

"No," replied Jimmy, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. "I meant, uh, the second one. The more recent guy." You.

Sam hesitated, but picked up quickly. "Well…I read about him in the paper," he said, adjusting his glasses. A nervous twitch. "He was a member of a vigilante group. Yes, I heard of him. Why?" He ended on such a normal note, but there was suspicion there. A wariness that smacked Jimmy in the face.

Jimmy licked his dry lips and stared at his father. "I don't know," he said honestly, trying to be indifferent about it. "I just thought…he was kind of cool."

His father stared up at him, the glare on his glasses hiding his eyes, but the open-mouthed confusion on his face was enough for Jimmy to smile, wave and continue to trudge up the stairs. He left his father standing there in the basement, probably wondering what that was all about, maybe wondering how much Jimmy knew, but Jimmy couldn't care about that. It took all his will power not to run, to corner his mother, to punch his father, to scream their real names into their faces.

There was no use fighting it. He could put up with not confronting them, but he couldn't lie anymore. He could pretend all he wanted around his parents, call them their fake names, and tell strangers about Sam and Sandra Hollis. But he couldn't stand to try to fool himself any longer.

From now on, his dad would only be Dan in his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/Ns:  
> -Lucha Libre – (according to Wikipedia) "is a term used in Mexico and other Spanish-speaking areas referring to a form of professional wrestling involving varied techniques and moves. Mexican wrestling is characterized by rapid sequences of holds and moves, as well as high-flying moves, some of which have been adopted in the United States, and colorful masks." Maybe I'll draw a picture of what Tamila is supposed to look like, so this makes sense. It's rather amusing, frankly.  
> -Nite Hawk's costume sort of reminds me of Terry's from Batman Beyond.   
> -"Gestalt" – that choice will be explained later. Google "gestalt" in the meanwhile if you're that curious.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Rorschach learns not to corner two females on a street corner in broad daylight.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act."  
-George Orwell

* * *

.

It was October 31st. This world had the same pointless holidays his had had. People now dressed their children in costume and paraded them around the streets as if there were no threats hiding in the shadowed alleys. Crime was lower than usual, he had to admit, but by the time midnight came around, he had already stopped two muggings.

Slow night. _Hhn_.

There were only small subtleties that hinted that Veidt's empire of peace had descended onto New York's filth infested streets. The people didn't seem afraid to walk around when the sun went down. But this was a special night. Extra patrolmen and women were scattered thickly around every neighborhood.

But Rorschach had seen the streets on regular nights, where only the occasional cop drove by. Other than that, nothing. Crime had found its niche in this new world perfectly. While the sun was out, the cops ruled the streets. Lights out, the cops left, and the thugs patrolled around like swarming flies. Perhaps the cops were in on it, bought out by blood money. Maybe the cops were just as ignorant as the ordinary citizens. Maybe they all just turned a blind eye to this, for their own comfort.

That's what was wrong with this place, he knew. No one seemed to care. Why? It was so obvious. All the people in the city had to do was just open their own windows. Look out below. Get a glimpse at their perfect city at its worst hours. But they didn't. There were almost no crime reports in the papers. Just global fluff, nothing concrete or permanent. New satellites to be sent into space. Veidt had his own corner usually. Afghanistan was still causing trouble. They didn't trust Veidt or his plans; they never did. That was what the problem was now. Ironic; foreigners were smarter about trusting Veidt than Veidt's own people were. Made his stomach turn.

It was disgusting, how much Veidt had influenced the world. Lies had corrupted an entire generation. If anything, Veidt's cover up had worked. No one knew, except for those who had witnessed his only confession.

Except for the person who had taken that journal.

Rorschach had searched. Everywhere. He had exhausted whatever leads he had managed to come up with. Two witnesses had seen a dark haired Asian using the subway entrance by the library. But that had led to no where. Millions used the subway. One face was easy to forget. The librarian never got her name. She had left nothing in the library useful for identification. She was not some famous face around that neighborhood; probably not even from Manhattan. She was no criminal, as far as he could tell. She was just a person, one of millions.

He was sent to the streets now, trying to come up with answers as he defended New York from its own blissful state of know-nothingness. There, Rorschach passed yet another family on its way home from taking candy from the doorsteps of utter strangers. What a bizarre and dangerous holiday, he mused. Foolish parents.

"Mommy, look at that guy's costume!" said one of the smaller boys from the group, looking up at him as they passed.

The mother glanced over at him and then looked back down quickly, nervous. She hurried her children along and Rorschach ignored the group. People in masks—albeit normal people in masks—was strangely…familiar. Reminded him of better days. Better years. A few thoughts of Daniel, and the team they had once made.

But these people were legally walking the streets in costume, and only he was breaking the law, though no one noticed. This new generation had never known his infamous mask and the older wouldn't remember, not out in the dark. He had become just like everyone else during the day; just a face in the crowd, or a mask, in this case. No one cast him odd looks for the fact he was in costume. Most were just curious about how old he was. Rorschach had no qualms about this holiday. It celebrated the warding off of evil by wearing masks. The holiday was also amusing to him, just slightly, as he walked past large crowds, earning no more than a glance of recognition from them. He fit in with the world best when all the city's occupants were dressed up like monsters.

How ironic.

But as he walked the streets, Rorschach didn't feel any comfort in handling the few problems that did come up. Even when the family crowds started to die down, and the drug dealers came out from their dens, and the police vanished from sight, Rorschach did not take comfort in stopping crime. No criminal's shout, nor blood, nor snapping of bones made him feel any better. His mind was a darker place than he remembered lately. Too many nightmares already, no sleep. Something else was on his mind that night.

In two day's time, it would be November 2nd. Twenty years to the date since he left Antarctica to be transported here. This world. This world that forgot the true meaning of the attacks and hailed the real transgressor as its hero. There would be a parade, a celebration. New York loved this memorial holiday.

It made his skin tingle and his blood boil. Rorschach could not fathom why he was becoming so agitated. It was not for personal vengeance that he sought for Veidt's actions to be brought to light. His death—or what he had expected to be his death—was acceptable because he stepped toward it on his own terms, for the right thing. He was not into petty vendettas, so there was no need to become angry. This was for the world's sake. For justice's.

Thus, the only suitable answer for that was that Veidt needed to be brought to justice. Crimes must be punished, no matter what. The world had peace, but Veidt had tricked everyone. That had to be exposed.

Veidt would not be coming to the city for 11/2, or so he had heard from various newsstands. He was too busy acting as a peacekeeper in the Middle East. He would eventually be returning another day, but that could be weeks away. Rorschach thought about the idea of being so close to Veidt. It would be so tempting to plan an assault then. Get him in the open while everyone was watching in awe…

Maybe. It was a maybe in the back of his mind. He had to be content with breaking the bones of scum all night long. He had priorities. Find the journal, find the witnesses, and then confront Veidt. There was no other way to do it.

And so, the search went on.

**0000000000**

The next day was just as uneventful, at least in the beginning. Rorschach slept in empty apartments and condemned factories most nights, but he was still having trouble sleeping. This was no time to rest. Crime was still present, and even more so, Veidt could be looking for him.

And, of course, his journal was still out there.

Morning heeded no more leads than the night before. For the first time in his career as a mask, Rorschach was beginning to feel helpless. He was an investigator. A good one. He could find anyone; that's what made him so terrifying to crooks who thought the shadows and sewers would keep them safe.

But that was the problem. She wasn't a criminal. She was just a girl. Her name, her face…worthless unless rendered infamous by some heinous deed. Ironic, again. It would be easier to handle the matter if she had been a criminal.

He had hunted civilians before, but he had always had another lead. A name, a place. He only had a face and general description. Nothing concrete to ask people. There were plenty of Asian-Americans in New York. Plenty of teenage girls with dark hair. Physical descriptions had no weight in this case.

The only thing left was to continue searching on foot on the streets, hoping to run across something. Someone, specifically. There was little chance he would be able to find the girl by chance, but it was literally all he had open to him currently.

The sensible side of him told him that it was pointless. The journal was lost and the girl would not be found. He was wasting energy by trying. Daniel and Laurie could have been anywhere. It wouldn't hurt to try to discover their old aliases and start a new search. But that was just as bad as trying to find the girl. Daniel had a twenty year head start, after all. The chances of finding the two seemed bleak.

But what was he to do, if not those two things? He could continue to fight crime. That was always a necessity. He was needed there. The streets needed to be cleaned, after being neglected for two solid decades. But what then? Rorschach's only idea was to just reveal himself. The living dead would be ample proof that something was up. Veidt would try to shut him out, but if he played his cards right, he might be able to get his message out to the public before it was silenced.

Rorschach contemplated the idea. It seemed promising. It was more so than the other two now-dead options. It was all he had now.

It was around twelve when he had gotten up that day. He had not fallen asleep until early morning and he berated himself for it. He had wasted valuable daylight hours that he could have used for searching. Rorschach left the empty apartment he had broken into the previous night and stuck to the back street which it emptied out onto. It was light out, decent weather, but he kept his mask on. He had made the decision to duck into the sewers to reach the other side of town for a new search and he didn't want to take off his face too soon. He walked down the deserted alley and no one seemed to be using that path to start with.

But at the end of the alley, he could see that people were moving around everywhere and the streets hummed with excitement. Something was happening. Rorschach tried to remember what day it was.

November 1st.

It was All Souls Day, a real holy day. But no one celebrated that anymore. They were too busy getting ready for a parade to commemorate a tragedy turned celebration. Rorschach tried not to think about the last time he experienced a November 1st. He was still in prison at this time. He would soon be out, and then finding out the truth about Veidt. Off to the south pole. Off to his death.

Rorschach stood in the alleyway and watched the people go by, ignoring him, even with his mask on. He didn't know why he was there, or why Manhattan had spared him. What had Manhattan done? What was to come of this? Rorschach felt anger twist and turn in his gut. Was his ultimate destiny to just stand there, watching the world cannibalize itself as it lived its golden lie? He was one of the last gatekeepers of the world's greatest secret, and yet Manhattan had placed him in a position that held no benefits. No clear way to reveal the secret, no way to find his old allies and no way to confront Veidt openly.

What was his purpose now?

The sound of two females laughing broke into his thoughts and Rorschach felt a wave of anger wash over him. The youth of today seemed to have grown more obnoxious since the last time he had walked the earth, over twenty-years ago. Girls in particular were noisier than he remembered.

But out of instinct, Rorschach turned and looked out of the alley's entrance for the source of the laughter. He could see two females crossing the street almost diagonal from his position. One was dark skinned and the other seemed Asian from this distance. It was unimportant, but something about them struck his interest. The Asian one in particular.

**0000000000**

They made their move on Friday at noon, one day after Halloween. It was All Saint's Day and Audrey's school had off. It was also the day before November 2nd. The citizens of New York were already getting ready for the parade and news coverage for the next day's celebration. 11/2 Day was one of the biggest national holidays next to July 4th. Of course, New York had to make a big fuss about it.

Audrey couldn't disagree with the message. They should all remember that day, when so many died. But she didn't want to think about that day. Not now. Not when everything she thought she knew about…might be a lie.

Even if the city was alive with movement and preparations, she and Tamila set their plans. Tamila had volunteered to go with her, and Audrey felt safe enough with just the two of them. They'd go to Riverside, dump the book, and go home. Sweet and simple.

For that entire week, the journal had been tucked in between Audrey's mattresses. She had been kept up at night by the prospect of Federal agents bursting through her door. The others mentioned the same thing. She and Jimmy had been even more detached in school than usual and the group had kept their exchanges short, only hanging out at Cesar's place for a bit on Halloween night for a mock-party. Audrey feared the police and after a week of nothing suspicious happening, they all felt well enough to interact with one another a bit more. But she still had troubles at night. Underneath her, she could feel the faint outline of the journal and that was always enough to make what little sleep she did get worthless—nightmares and visions of masked-faced gods replaced her dreams and made sleep impossible to tolerate.

That only prompted her further to hurry to return the book to its anonymous grave. She met Tamila on the train and they continued with great haste to Manhattan. They tried not to act too suspicious, but Audrey was paranoid. They all were. The threat of attracting the Happiness Inquisition wasn't at all impossible. The sooner they got rid of the book the better. That didn't stop any of them from glancing over their shoulders, double locking their doors at night, and keeping phone conversations quick and cryptic.

"Hey, let's go shopping Friday," said Audrey when she called Tamila mid-week.

"Where to?" asked Tamila, pretending to be casually interested; she knew the code words and routines down pat.

"I was thinking over in Manhattan. Labyrinth is having a sale on hard-back fiction. I was thinking about getting that new vampire romance thing. Remember how much Valerie was talking about it?"

"Yeah," Tamila lied smoothly, interest falsely perked. "Sounds good. Meet you at Grand Army Plaza?"

"See you then."

So, while out and about, they pretended to just be normal friends, headed uptown for a shopping trip. Tamila never mentioned or looked down at Audrey's jacket, or commented on how Audrey kept adjusting it, securing the hidden parcel underneath.

As they moved from train to train and eventually out into Manhattan, Audrey tried not to think about the journal that burned against her stomach. It felt like molten lead—heavy, on fire. The feeling wouldn't fade from her mind even after she returned the book, and she knew it. It would take months to get rid of the weight. The burning.

The plan was simple and easy enough for Tamila to understand and ad-lib her responses to. They'd shop a bit and then Audrey would suggest going to the library for a quick look-see. They'd slip the book back and then go home empty handed. Maybe get something for appearance-sake. Audrey only hoped the same librarian wouldn't be there. That was a minor issue, compared to everything else.

"Think its safe?" asked Tamila as they crossed at an intersection with a herd of people, all ignorant to anything but their own concerns.

Audrey hummed. They could have been followed, but maybe not. She eventually nodded. "I think they would have picked up on something by now," she eventually admitted. "Be careful not to say anything implicative."

"Gotcha." Tamila smirked down at her friend as they walked by a street vendor. "You are the most paranoid bitch I've ever met."

"Survival instincts," replied Audrey calmly. She did laugh and patted Tamila's arm affectionately. "Thanks for coming."

"Well, the others were busy doin' their own things and I wasn't about to leave you to do it by yourself again," said Tamila, as if holding back a sigh. "The sooner this trip is done, the sooner we can all take a deep breath."

Audrey nodded, knowing that was only half-true. They would still think about it. An ad came on the TV the other night about how Adiran Veidt was unable to come for the 11/2 parade, but he would be appearing in December for a visit. Audrey stared at his face for a long time. Later, when Jimmy called her, the two had little to talk about. It was unsafe to talk about anything concerning Veidt, but their silence was enough for Audrey to realize this would be a long-standing issue amongst them.

"I hope we're doing the right thing," Audrey whispered.

Tamila glanced down at her, but she didn't elaborate. It wasn't that hard for Tamila to understand what she meant, though. She meant returning the book. Shutting out the Veidt-conspiracy. Dressing up in costume. Bringing back the masks. There were so many things they were doing that could be wrong…and yet so very, very right.

Her head spun, but she kept walking. Walking like the normal people, like the people she had to pretend to be.

"I was wondering about something last night," began Tamila suddenly.

Audrey looked up at her, surprised. "Wondering about what?"

Grinning, Tamila cocked her head to the side. "I have wonder what exactly is running through those guys' minds when a hero showed up in costume, you know?" she asked, chuckling already. "Imagine, selling dope one minute, and then suddenly, you're getting your ass handed to you by some dude in a cape and mask. Like, who the _fuck_ expects that?"

It wasn't funny in reality, but Audrey burst out laughing. The image was hilarious. Both girls kept laughing, even as they started across another, larger intersection.

"Oh, wow," exclaimed Audrey, giggling. "I never thought about it like that." Not that she would ever feel sorry about surprising a drug dealer or rapist. If anything, a little surprise was nothing compared to what they truly deserved.

…She was tempted to bring along a camera now, though.

"We should totally make a Wall of _What the Fuck?_ faces, you know?" added Tamila, making Audrey crack up again. "The best reactions we come across!"

"Oh, yes," laughed Audrey.

"Jimmy could totally rig up some hidden camera we can hide somewhere, like, on Markus' shoulders maybe," continued Tamila, grinning, looking back at her. "Hell, maybe we can even use a video camera and then send it into some TV…station…"

Slowly, Tamila stopped walking. Audrey slowed, confused. They were barely across the street. Several cars honked their horns, the light threatening to turn green. Audrey looked up at Tamila, about to ask her what was wrong, but something—a cold feeling sweeping through her body—stopped her from speaking.

**0000000000**

_Dark hair, only slight squinty eyes—definitely a mixed background—with the makeup and hairstyle of a whore. Short skirt rolled up too much, part of an unidentified school's uniform. Loud laugh, honest smile. Walks with confidence despite wardrobe, as if unafraid of the scum that might take her for prey. A mostly empty school bag and a quick gait._

" _Sorry,"_ said the girl, hurrying along in his memories. Too short of a conversation to pinpoint an accurate match of the two voices together now.

But her face. Her face fit it.

Without pausing or doubting his choice of target, Rorschach moved from shadows of the alley, and into the afternoon sun-lit streets. The nighttime reassurance of anonymity he had had the night before was gone, but he didn't care. He paid no attention to any passerby who might have seen his real face. He didn't care if he was found out prematurely. He didn't care for the police, the media, the people—

_That girl had his journal._

**0000000000**

Tamila was staring behind them, as if she was suddenly detached from everything else. A look of shock and…fear…filled her eyes.

"Holy shit," whispered Tamila. Audrey immediately tensed in surprise at the sound of her friend's voice. "Do…are you seeing this?"

"What—?"

Tamila grabbed her shoulder and yanked her around. Audrey allowed this and stared out in the direction she was facing now. Across the street, where they had just been, a man was walking through the crowds, walking purposefully toward them. It could have been a man, or a woman, but she knew it was a man. She knew this man. She knew him because he didn't have a face, not a normal one.

He was wearing a black and white mask, one that had recently begun to haunt her.

He was walking toward them fearlessly and without hesitation. Audrey took a step back, her eyes wide.

"Run," she whispered, without thinking at all, her entire mind and body growing numb.

"What?" asked Tamila, also shocked.

" _Run_!"

Instinct won over everything else. She kept her eyes pinned on that fearful man's mask, watching it turn multitudes of shapes as he moved closer and closer. Haunted words drifted by her mind's ears and visions of a dead-man with a white and black face flashed into her mind. But this time, unlike her nightmares, the masked man lying in the snow didn't disappear. He was alive. He was right there in front of her. He was heading right _toward_ her.

Without another word, she was off, Tamila right at her side. She didn't pay attention to if he was following. She just kept running, knocking people out of the way and jumping over trash bags sitting on the curb. She ducked down another street, yanking on Tamila's arm unnecessarily. Every exercise, every drill that she herself had put together and made the others take just vanished. She didn't want a fight. She didn't want to even acknowledge this man's existence. She didn't want anything to do with this, not anymore.

They kept running and didn't care who they bumped into or who shouted after them in piqued concern or anger. They kept running across intersections, dodged cars, and only stopped when a elongated bus came tearing by in front of them. All Audrey could hear was her own thrumming heart and her and Tamila's harsh breathing.

Then, behind her, she heard something else amidst the din of the typical New York street. Something familiar.

Footsteps. Running.

Audrey turned and saw yards behind them someone running at a break-neck speed. They moved fluidly through the crowds, never touching anyone. A man dressed in a brown trench coat who she knew was twenty-years dead. A ghost amongst the living.

"Oh, God," she whispered hoarsely, unable to tear her eyes away from his non-existent face.

Tamila grabbed her arm and yanked her across the street. They picked up their own running pace again, trying to forget about their hunter, only thinking of running, running, running like no tomorrow. But they were getting sloppy as they went, running out of steam and the ability to make tight turns. They stumbled and slowed.

But the man behind them never slowed, nor stopped, nor seemed willing to compromise or give up. The crowds go thinner and he sped up. He never seemed out of breath, or tired. Audrey felt fear—intense fear. Her mind was on fire with so many different things. Why, why was he alive? Was it the same man? How? How?! Veidt—the journal—the Event—everything else…what the hell was going on?!

She prayed this was just another nightmare. Just another bad dream that she would wake up from screaming and crying and looking around for masked boogey men in dark corners. But this wasn't a dream. Tamila's tight grip on her arm and the sweat dripping down her back was enough to prove that.

There wasn't any waking up from this.

They made another tight corner and Audrey had to skid several feet before she could turn properly. Her chest hurt, her head swam—she tried to focus on the end of this new block. If she could just get there, just get a few more steps farther from this menace, maybe they could—

Without saying anything, Tamila yanked Audrey from her side of the sidewalk and threw her forward. Audrey stumbled, bewildered, into the entrance of a rather empty alley. She looked up at Tamila, shocked. They couldn't stop, they couldn't just wait here to be found—

"What—?" she tried to ask.

"Shut up and get behind the dumpster. Get ready," snapped Tamila, breathless, but in command. Audrey stared at her, but moved back quickly behind the dumpster.

Crouching, Audrey could still see Tamila poised at the mouth of the alleyway, the afternoon sun hitting her body, encompassing her body with light. Audrey swallowed hard and focused. This was another battle, just one played in the daylight. They could do this. _Follow the plans, survive the night._

She ducked low and let her mind take control of her trembling body, becoming Gestalt, and letting her fears fall behind her, along with her war-drumming heart…

**0000000000**

They gave good chase. He had not been expecting two young women their ages to be able to run so fast and far. They had definitely been prepared adequately for long distance marathons…or were just used to being chased. It was highly suspect. And only provoked him further to hunt them down through the crowds of stinking swine and ignorant denizens.

He ignored everything else. His focus was entirely on the back of the Asian's skull. Reach her, grab the book, hide in the sewers until night. He didn't think of Veidt or how much publicity this would get him.

He only wanted that book.

Rorschach ran and forgot his own limitations. There were none, not now. That was the benefit he faced. Veidt was twenty-years older now. Rorschach was not. He had not been a young man when he last lived in New York, but he had an edge still over the aging Golden Boy.

The two moved fast, but he could see their movements slow after several long minutes of non-stop running. They grew sloppy, slower. Rorschach kept his pace steady, his heart beating faster at the idea of getting his journal rather than exertion. It was so close.

He had no idea who these people were. He doubted they were Veidt's people; that made no sense. Perhaps just thrill-seekers. Maybe spies from the government. Tricky Dick was dead, finally. But the Keene Act was still in place. The government could have still been keeping tabs on the book. But why steal it from themselves? Third party was highly possible.

The answers would be given to him, Rorschach rationalized, once he caught up to the women. They would be no threat to him, no matter what affiliations they had. Once he had the journal, he could rest easier at night, perhaps. He could focus on finding Daniel, wherever he was now. Rorschach turned a corner, almost right on the two women, his emotions beginning to stir once more. He could simply take the book, and vanish back into the city's—

Before Rorschach could even think of ducking, a fist collided with his jaw. He felt the pain a moment later and he was sent flying backwards. It was a hard hit, one like Daniel used to have. Or at least Nite Owl. That thought burned him more than the strike.

Habit forced him to roll away, to stand again, but the fists kept coming. Not disorganized, haphazard fists, like the ones normal crooks would use. These were trained, deliberate fists, moving in a refined way that reminded him more of Ozymandias than anything else. _Not Daniel, never Daniel—_

He ducked and rolled towards the edge of the sidewalk, eyes locking onto his attack finally. It was a black woman—no. Rorschach immediately recognized her as the companion of his real target, the Asian. This dark skinned woman gave him no room to look for her friend; she grabbed at his leg. He kicked out, nailing her in the chest, flinging her away. But as he did so, the sun was blotted out above—

Two feet collided with his own chest and he was sent sprawling onto the pavement. Not heavy, small size—a woman's feet. He only got one look in at the person standing above him— _dark hair, light skin, uniform, the Asian_ —before her feet lashed out again and kicked him in the jaw. His vision clouded just briefly, but his hand whipped out and grabbed onto her ankles, meaning to yank her to the ground. He got one solid grip on her right ankle when someone metal and hard slammed him across the forehead. The girl on top of him jumped out of the way, her body moving too fluidly and precisely for a mere self-defense trainee. These were trained fighters.

He rolled to the side, to avoid the metal weapon again, which crashed loudly onto the sidewalk. A trashcan lid. The black one had thrown it had him, twice. It rolled swiftly into the side of a parked car. Its alarm went off. Rorschach growled loudly, backing up to try to get into a better position. The women backed up in a similar manner, eyeing him like one would a wild dog.

They moved in some kind of trained pattern. Working in unison. Good form. But they were young. He could hear the fear in their breathing, the roughness, the uncertainty in their movements. They feared him. Not trained assassins, then.

"Give me the book!" he snarled, trying to get to his feet. That's all he wanted. He didn't care if they were just women, just children looking for something they didn't understand.

The Asain stopped, just for a moment. She gave him the strangest look—fear, confusion, surprise—and for a moment, Rorschach knew she wanted to say something to him in reply. Her friend looked hesitant, but clearly on the ready for his next move.

Then, the Asian opened her mouth.

"FIRE!" she screamed, loud enough for Rorschach's ringing ears to hurt and to be heard over the car alarm. "FIRE! SOMEONE HELP US!"

Rorschach hesitated, the first time in a long while. He stared at the woman as she screamed, her friend now joining in. They were not wearing looks of fear. They were staring—glaring at him—ready for a fight. But they were calling for help. To end a fight they could easily have fought for so much longer.

They could have their end; he didn't care. His eyes went down and he saw a bulge under the girl's jacket that formed the outline of a book. There was no time, no more waiting. Rorschach struck out like an uncoiling snake, ready to grab what he knew it was—his book, his journal. It was right there, right there…!

"Ho shit, back the fuck off, man!"

Rorschach looked up and dodged just in time as a large black man came flying at him. He jumped back enough to see the two women run, past a new group of people that had formed around them. He had never noticed them, not with his attention focused solely on the book. Rorschach, for a moment, stared at them in confusion, but was forced to dodge the man again. People were shouting, sirens— _the police_ —were blaring over head, getting closer.

He couldn't be caught now. Not now, not when he was so close to the journal! He looked around, feeling his control slipping. He couldn't see the women anymore. Something black lay just a few feet away. All he could hear were sirens and people— _too many people_ —

Rorschach slammed the man down again, the would-be rescuer. He looked down and saw the black square object—a woman's wallet. Too obvious. A calling card, or a taunt. Rorschach reached down and grabbed the wallet, and then, took off down the alley. He had no time now. He had to lay low, until the police were not hunting for him. He knew their faces now, those women. There was more than one. A group…a group was easy to find compared to a single person.

Those women. Vicious, but couth. They had strength and knew it. Used it. But why? In this world, why would such fighters exist?

And the wallet. It would hold pertinent information on at least one of them. It was too obvious a drop. If they were skilled fighters, they obviously could make plans.

So, he was to be expected.

He ran on, until he reached another street. Two city workers, just about to cover a manhole. Rorschach's suddenly appearance shocked them and he took this moment to jump down. He latched onto the ladder and descended into the darkness of the city's bowels, a place he had grown comfortable knowing only…decades ago.

When dark touched the city's streets, he'd set out again. He would hunt for his journal, now armed with more information. He would find it, and maybe, find out the reason for their theft of the book.

Crimes must be punished, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/Ns:  
> -"Labyrinth" is a bookstore in uptown Manhattan, now known as Book Culture.  
> \- "Grand Army Plaza" is the Grand Army Plaza Station, a NYC train station in Brooklyn, NY.  
> -Lol, Audrey. (Come on, wouldn't you think about doing that?) She's lucky there were concerned citizens. New York is actually a pretty friendly place. I got lost there once and all the cops were very nice. XD I'm going back tomorrow, so let's see if that's still true…  
> -Tsk tsk, what are you up to ladies?


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter seven: Rorschach, meet Crimebusters. Crimbusters, meet Rorschach. Let the insanity begin.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

* * *

"Do not mistake consequence for fate."

-Kirstin Brown

* * *

Her name was Audrey Jackson, daughter of Jason and Lucy Jackson. Father ran martial arts studio in Brooklyn, a five time national athlete. Mother was a chiropractor, child of South Korean immigrants. Jackson went to Nazareth Regional High School, a Catholic school; explained uniform. Lived in Brooklyn. Single child. No prior arrest records. Won several youth championships in Choi Kwang Do, and high rankings in Ju Jitsu, up until she reached high school age, where she dropped off the radar concerning those fields of martial arts. Otherwise, perfectly normal adult of eighteen years.

What Rorschach could not figure out was why Jackson or her still unnamed friend would be after his journal. It was looking more and more like a third party had become involved, somehow, with his story. Veidt was a possible solution, but how would he have known that Rorschach had been looking for the book? It did not seem possible that Veidt even knew of his existence. Unless Dr. Manhattan was _working_ with Veidt; that thought crosses his mind before. Manhattan had agreed with Veidt in the end, after all. It wasn't that impossible to suggest they were working together now.

But _why_ send him here?!

That question would have to wait, as much as it was keeping him up at nights recently. He had found the book, and to get it, he had to confront this Jackson girl and whatever she was hiding. She had wanted him to find her, apparently. By giving him the location to find him willingly, however, that meant that she was expecting him. Perhaps a trap.

But she was young. He could see that in her and her friend as they made their assault earlier that morning. She would make mistakes easily. She already had, by allowing him to find out her name. It was done on purpose, but she was clearly underestimating him. Or at least thought she could be smarter.

She wasn't.

The panic Rorschach had felt hours earlier had dissipated as he realized how the situation had turned around beautifully. Finding out who the thief was had been the difficult part. Now…it was just a matter of getting the child where he wanted and taking the book, by force if necessary.

And after that stunt on the street that these brats pulled, Rorschach was feeling particularly unmerciful.

He arrived outside the Jackson's apartment building at six o'clock, just when it was becoming increasingly dark. The sun was still dusting the horizon when, from the alley next to the building, Rorschach saw someone leave the front entrance and quickly walk down the sidewalk opposite of his position. It was the girl.

She was walking quickly, as if with a purpose. Too much of a purpose. She didn't look around in paranoia. She didn't make any clear stops, anyway. Rorschach kept up pace with her easily, keeping at least a block in between them. When she would disappear in a crowd, it was always easy to find her again. She ignored buses and other modes of transportation.

It was obvious that she was hoping he'd follow her, even though he knew she didn't know if he was. He kept a safe distance between them and knew she was still unaware of his presence as she led them deeper into the city.

As they traveled, Rorschach pondered this girl's real purpose. The lack of outward involvement in the martial arts tournaments after years of practice may have hinted that she purposely dropped off the radar. For what, he could only guess. It was possible she had become involved with something else, another organization or activity, that now took up her time. Her family and social situations seemed average, but her reaction to him and to his journal made all of that irrelevant. She was somehow connected to either his story or the story of the masked adventurers in general.

And judging by the fear in her eyes when she saw him approaching her, unlike how the rest of her ignorant generation would have reacted, he _knew_ that she knew him.

Jackson led him across one last busy street before they entered a rather empty section of the city. From what he had gathered in the last few weeks of living in this new world, Rorschach knew they were headed into a reconstruction center. The city was still trying to rebuild what was lost twenty years previous. The job was almost done, this massive cover up. Only a few empty lots remained, scattered throughout the boroughs like obscure dog feces—ignored until stepped on.

She was leading him toward one of those locations. An empty lot, low visibility from busy streets. No curious eyes to pry.

A light fluttering of excitement dared to show deep in his gut, which he quickly squashed. A fight was a fight, even if it was the solution to a mystery. There was no room in this kind of life to get overexcited or eager for violence. He had made a rookie mistake by letting those brats slip out of his grasp. There would be no mistakes tonight.

Jackson made a sudden left, into a lot lined by wooden city-issued fences. Rorschach walked up at the same pace to the block where he last saw her. He stopped in front of the entrance to the lot and saw piles of construction supplies, a bulldozer, and...the girl, walking toward the center of the lot, still purposely ignoring him.

The girl kept walking and Rorschach decided to wait, to see what she'd do next. There was no noise, not even wind. Just the sound of her sneakers on beaten earth.

Then, abruptly, she stopped. In the near-center of the lot, Jackson halted, her body swaying, as if she herself did not expect to stop so suddenly. She eventually stilled and just stood there, her back to the entrance.

It was an invitation for him to step closer. It was an obvious trap. She obviously either wanted him to know it was a trap, or she seriously underestimated him. Both were possible.

Rorschach started walking toward her, senses on high alert. He kept walking until he was only yards behind the girl. She didn't make a move, but he could now see how tense she was. She was one step away from trembling. Rorschach stared at the back of her head, wondering just what she…they were doing there.

He heard them before they moved. At least four, perhaps three, unidentified persons moving around the construction supplies. Rorschach kept staring at Jackson's head, but was already plotting out his next moves. He had found their weakness. Jackson was trained through classroom studies, not through the streets or necessity. Her moves would be planned, coordinated. If she, their apparent leader, was this way, most likely, the rest would be too.

A first mistake like that could be fatal.

Rorschach heard them creep up, quieter than the average person, but still clumsily. Briefly, he noted they had a while to go in ways of training, whatever they were attempting to do with their skills. It was curious; he still wanted to know.

But there was no time to find out now. They were in his way, and if he had to, they would die.

When the first one moved, he was already ducking their way.

**0000000000**

For the first time since he had met the girl, Jimmy could not help but think Audrey had gone completely insane. They had thought her to be crazy when she and Tamila told them about her plan. Not only had she just confronted—or so she claimed—Rorschach, the missing Crimebuster, but she purposefully left her wallet there for him to track her down.

… _WHAT?!_

When she called him, half-hysterical, half-excited, Jimmy had thought she was joking. Or hallucinating. But a quick conference call with the others proved that Tamila had witnessed it as well. This man, this ghost, this mask running around, who attacked them and now knew where she lived. Audrey was convinced that this man, maybe not the real thing, but certainly someone involved with Crimebusters. Perhaps someone who had known Rorschach, or known his story. That was a possible reason for him being there, after the journal.

And then there was the possibility that it was the real Rorschach.

Annnnd that promptly sent all five teenagers into a tizzy. Markus wanted them to report it to the cops, which was shocking, but Cesar supported the idea, claiming that while they were going to do good behind masks, Rorschach had already proven that he was not good. He was bad. He was the worst mask of them all, even worse than the Comedian. Even if it was a fake, he was still a threat. He had attacked Audrey and Tamila in broad daylight and was _strong_ (Tamila's chest was still killing her). Tamila just wanted to fight whoever it was and get even. Jimmy wanted to go a more logical route and confront the man peacefully. Audrey agreed with him, enthusiastically saying they had to confront the man, find out who he was, and why he wanted the journal.

Jimmy was starting to hate that journal. It had first been a source of mad conspiracy theories which he refused to believe. It pointed out way too many scary ideas, many surrounding his own parents. Now, the book had put Audrey and Tamila in danger, and now, all five were about to be put under fire. Audrey was sure the man would take the lead and follow her. It was like playing with a fire that may or may not have been sitting next to a barrel of fuel; if they weren't careful, it could blow up horribly in their faces.

Knowing the others were leery of confronting the man, Audrey opted to do it alone. That made all of them freak out on her more, of course. It had been decided after a long argument on the phone that they would try to set up the man. Audrey would lead him to that empty lot again. There, all five would confront him, physically if need be. Considering this guy, whoever he was, was very strong, Markus and Cesar volunteered to bring him down first. It might have been the only way to speak with the guy calmly.

So, Audrey took the risk of making sure the guy would follow her when she left her house at six. She waited all afternoon until it grew dark, ate dinner, and then began to walk to her destination. She didn't take the bus and simply walked to the other side of town where the lot was—where the others and himself lay in wait.

They had all universally opted not to wear their costumes. This guy could have been working for…someone ("Not necessarily Veidt!" he kept telling them all) who could ruin any chance they had at fighting crime on the streets. They had to play their cards right, even in something like this.

Jimmy had cheated just a bit. He had "borrowed" his father's goggles—the ones from the Owl Cave in Queens. The nice ones, the shiny ones covered in dust…the ones that would let him see in the dark. That was a pleasant surprise when he had gone back to see what was lying around there and was still useable. Goggles that allowed total night vision? Definitely still useable.

"Do you think it's the real guy?" whispered Tamila, almost blending into the early night with her black jacket and hood.

Jimmy shrugged and adjusted the goggles. He could see Markus and Cesar from across the lot, hidden by the bulldozer, both eager for a confrontation.

"He could just be an impersonator. Or a lunatic. Maybe both," he replied casually, even though his heart trembled at the thought of the other idea.

They could handle an impersonator. They could handle a crazy impersonator. But the real thing? That would imply so many things…things they dared not think about anymore…things that should have been silenced the moment they got rid of the damn book. That would imply that…the book may be right.

They waited in silence the rest of the time. Audrey said she'd keep a normal pace, and considering she was walking the whole way, it would take her awhile. But quarter after seven, Audrey suddenly appeared at the lot's only entrance. She kept her hands in her pockets and strode forward boldly into the lot. But Jimmy could see her face when the others couldn't. She looked…tense. Uptight. Scared.

She stopped just a few yards across from him, to the left. She stood straight, staring ahead. She looked sick, or maybe just stressed.

Then, as if summoned, another figure appeared at the entrance to the lot. It wasn't a civilian. It wasn't a cop. It was a man dressed in a dark trench coat, dark pants, dark shoes and a fedora. The lack of a face didn't shock him as much as he thought it might have. The man was wearing a mask. A white and black mask.

Rorschach.

Seeing this image in front of them after all those pictures, all those stories…Jimmy swallowed hard, trying to remember to breathe. There was something exciting about it. Something scary. Something…unearthly. There were so many questions that suddenly wormed their way into his head that he wanted to ask him. But Jimmy knew he had more luck getting answers from his own father than this man. Especially if he was the real thing.

Rorschach started to walk, hands in his own pockets, straight across the path Audrey had just taken. He seemed focused only on Audrey, as if ready to confront her. He had only seen her with Tamila, so there was no way he could have known about all of them. Even if he was the legendary fighter, he was forty years their senior. This would be an even fight.

Jimmy raised his hand and, after just briefly meeting Audrey's eyes with his own, make a quick movement. Markus moved first, speeding out from the shadows like a silent tank. Markus was the largest of the group and undoubtedly the strongest. He could plow down groups of grown men without breaking a sweat.

Cesar was right behind him, brass knuckles gleaming in the street lamp created light. Tamila jumped down from next to Jimmy and ran at their target, who still hadn't moved. Jimmy himself kicked off from the metal barrel he had been crouching on, and rushed forward, fist clenching, mind already plotting out his next moves. Audrey had spun around in her spot, sinking low into a fighting position as the others rounded on the man who—

Who…still hadn't moved.

Suddenly, warning signals from his brain slammed Jimmy head on. He stumbled to a stop, a gasp ripping out of his throat. He moved to grab Tamila—already too far away—and shout out to his friends to stop.

But it was too late.

Markus reached Rorschach and was already swinging his fist down toward the shorter man's head. But the motion was pointless. Rorschach ducked so smoothly, so perfectly away, it was as if he never moved at all. He slipped out from under Markus' range and brought up his own arm—slamming his gloved fist into Markus' face. Markus was flung back, but Rorschach kept at him. He grabbed Markus' shirt, the fabric ripping, and flung him to the side—right into Cesar.

Cesar shouted and fell back, Markus' weight more than enough to slam both of them to the ground. Jimmy went to go to his friends' aid, but he had underestimated Rorschach's speed. In a split second, Jimmy was flying. His back collided with something hard, a pile of pipes that broke free of their container and slipped out from underneath him. Jimmy looked up just in time to see Tamila take a swing at Rorschach, who was coming toward him, but Rorschach dodged again. He grabbed Tamila's forearm, yanking her forward. He made a move as if to snap the arm and a startled yell escaped Jimmy's throat.

Audrey beat him to it. She came up on Rorschach's right and slammed her own fist into his face. Rorschach dropped Tamila, who stumbled, but was already turning to join the fray. Jimmy watched as Audrey got one more hit in—a good one that almost made Rorschach stumble—but the masked man was quick to recover. He dodged the third punch and swiftly kicked her in the stomach. His strike sent her _flying_ across the open lot. Tamila had grabbed a piece of piping that had fallen and swung it at Rorschach, who turned around just in time to grab the pipe, twist it out of her hands and kick her away.

He then turned and threw the pipe like an ax, straight at Markus and Cesar, who had one of his guns out. The pipe nailed Cesar right in the face and he dropped with an angry shout. Jimmy wanted to shout out and tell Cesar to stop— _no guns, are you nuts?!_ —but Rorschach was practically on top of him before he could say a word. A leg swung out and caught him across the jaw. Stars burst into his vision and Jimmy found himself in a heap on top of the pipes. He saw something move—the leg again—and he instinctively brought his arms up. Training practices with Audrey and Markus suddenly seemed overwhelmingly important. The block did its job, and the leg retracted immediately, but Jimmy was already standing. He swung out with his fist, missed, but ducked under Rorschach's own flying fist.

Markus came out of no where and plowed into Rorschach. The smaller, masked man was slammed into the ground, but it was like throwing down a rubber ball. Rorschach rolled back the moment he hit the ground and swung his leg out, catching Markus unprepared. Jimmy rushed forward just as Markus tumbled backwards, hitting his head back on the cold ground. Just as Jimmy ran at them, Rorschach kicked back, got Jimmy in the chest, and kicked him over his shoulders.

Jimmy's back slammed into the ground and all the air in his chest was forced out unmercifully. He choked, unable to breathe. _Got to get up, I've got to get up…!_

Rorschach looked down at him and stared—for just a _second_ too long—and for a moment, Jimmy imagined him staring at him for real, not just as an opponent. _What…?_ His masked face suddenly surged with new dark shapes, and then to Jimmy's utter dismay, Rorschach reached down with a gloved hand. Gritting his teeth, Jimmy braced himself for either pain or perhaps an opening.

The only miracle that night was that Rorschach became distracted when Tamila and Cesar reappeared. Jimmy looked backwards, dazed. He looked up just in time to see Rorschach knock the gun from Cesar's hand and punch him square in the face. Cesar shouted and stumbled backwards. Tamila dodged Cesar and charged right at Rorschach. She ducked one of Rorschach's punches, and while bent in a position that had to have been painful, threw out her leg and slammed her heel down onto Rorschach's shoulder, catching him partially in the neck.

Jimmy inwardly winced. Tammy had metal-plated heels just for that.

If Rorschach felt pain or registered it, he never made a sign. He grabbed Tamila's leg and swung her around, straight into Cesar, who was just about to get up. Both hit the ground hard, but Tamila rolled immediately off to the side.

Cesar, unfortunately, was not as quick. Rorschach struck out again like human lightening and grabbed Cesar by his neck. Jimmy gasped and tried to sit up, but it was pointless. Tamila froze on the ground before trying to make a grab for Rorschach and Cesar, but Rorschach kicked her in the face, away from them. He yanked Cesar back, who was trying to pry Rorschach off of him, but it seemed an impossible task. Everything seemed like a fury of motion and chaos. Markus started to run at them, but he stopped.

Then, everyone stopped. Heart pounding in his chest, Jimmy looked up and saw Rorschach standing there, holding an alive, but frozen Cesar by the throat. Rorschach, even if Jimmy could tell, probably wasn't blinking, he was standing so still. He was looking out beyond Cesar and Tamila, ignoring the others completely. Or maybe he wasn't.

Jimmy suddenly realized what the masked man was looking at: only a few yards away, Audrey had suddenly reappeared. But instead of being in a fighting pose, she had her hands out. In a peace-suggesting gesture.

 _Okay…_ Jimmy watched Audrey warily and then looked back at Rorschach…who still hadn't moved. He kept his hands pinned to Cesar's throat, but his attention seemed totally on Audrey. Jimmy prayed that Audrey had some kind of plan. She usually did. Hopefully.

"Rorschach?" asked Audrey, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and tried again. "You're Rorschach, right?"

Rorschach said nothing. He stared at Audrey and Jimmy heard a faint growl come from his direction.

"Please," she said, holding her hands out in front of her, tense as a metal spring. "What do you want?"

"Give me my book, now!" the man snarled. The sound of his voice made Jimmy's heart stop. It was so angry, so raw and wild. The edge of desperation clinging to every word sent shivers up his spine.

Audrey, breathing unsteadily, slowly lowered one of her hands, making sure Rorschach could see every move she made. The said-masked man growled lowly, but followed her movements without stopping her. She unzipped her jacket and reached inside…and pulled out the journal. The book shook in her trembling grasp.

The stillness that followed was…unnerving. Rorschach fell still, even though he was still holding Cesar by the throat. Markus was a few feet from Jimmy and the two exchanged worried glances. Audrey looked scared, but strangely determined. Tamila looked torn between helping Cesar and just pummeling Rorschach, regardless of the consequences. But no one spoke or moved. All attention was still on that book.

"If I give you this, you'll leave us alone?" Audrey finally asked, breathlessly.

"Give it and you'll live," corrected the man. His voice was so raw and angry.

Audrey stared at him, weighing her options. Her eyes darted over to Jimmy and Jimmy couldn't help but nod stiffly. She nodded back and looked back at Rorschach. She started to move her hand holding the book out, as if to throw it, but she stopped. Jimmy could hear a low growl escape Rorschach's masked face.

"I want to know something first," said Audrey quickly, her voice cracking.

Rorschach said nothing, but he grew tenser. His fist slowly tightened around Cesar's throat and Cesar only twitched his one eye.

"Where have you been for the last twenty years?" demanded Audrey, either not seeing or not caring. She was speaking quickly, so she must have known she was irritating the man.

Rorschach might have been glaring at her, but they'd never know. He stood silently before them, just standing. Then, he spoke. "Ask Manhattan." It was more of a growl than a voice.

"Doctor Manhattan?" repeated Audrey, surprised. That made Jimmy uneasy.

"Stop questions. Give me the book," snapped Rorschach loudly. He shook Cesar forward and that was enough to get Audrey's attention.

Without hesitation this time, she tossed the book toward him. Rorschach threw Cesar from him, a good few feet, and lunged. He caught the journal right before it hit the ground. Cesar scrambled back and Tamila rushed to his side, backing him up as they eyed Rorschach warily.

Rorschach paused just a few seconds in his crouched position, holding the book, looking down at it like a normal person would a precious gem. Those inkblots swirled and danced on his face. Jimmy had no idea what they meant. It was oddly…fascinating.

But the moment didn't last long. Rorschach stood up straight and began to back away. Markus cautiously moved in Jimmy's direction and silently helped the young man to sit up, both keeping their eyes pinned on Rorschach. Across from them, Tamila and Cesar watched with equally intense attention. Audrey just watched him with wary eyes.

Then, Rorschach turned and began to walk quickly away. Jimmy swallowed hard, torn between euphoria that he was leaving and the strange empty feeling of disappointment over such an anti-climatic ending. No one else dared to move and they probably wouldn't until they knew for sure he was gone—

"Rorschach."

The man stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn. Jimmy looked back at Audrey in shock and fear. She looked ashen, but had that strange, determined look on her face again.

Audrey swallowed hard. "Is it true?" she asked, her voice trembling, even though it was loud. "Is what you wrote…true?"

_About the Event, about everything…_

"Wrote a lot of things," replied the vigilante, almost too lowly to be heard.

"About Veidt," she continued quickly, her voice sharp. He could see, only thanks to the goggles, that her eyes were shining brightly as she struggled to contain her own emotions.

Rorschach didn't say anything at first. The silence that fell over the lot was stifling and Jimmy found it hard to breathe. Then, just ever so slightly, Rorschach turned his head and one of his nonexistent inky eyes met Audrey's.

"Yes."

With that, he just turned around and kept walking. He passed by Cesar and Tamila without glancing down at them; they inched away from him apprehensively. He kept walking, right out of the lot, across the street and then down an alley, into darkness. The five kids just sat there, watching shadows, too tense to even breathe.

" _Yes."_ What did that mean? Jimmy sat back, shaking, trying not to let his mind focus on that single word. It didn't confirm much, he rationalized. The man could have been anyone. Even if it was the real guy, he was a lunatic. He… _could_ have been.

Jimmy looked around and saw the expressions of the others. Cesar looked pissed, but he wasn't charging after their attacker. That was a sure sign that even he knew they were up against something they couldn't win against. Tamila kept her fingers tightly encircled on Cesar's shoulder and just stared out at where Rorschach vanished, waiting for a second attack. Markus let out a low sigh, and when Jimmy looked up at him, he saw a distant, tired look on his face. And Audrey…Audrey looked positively broken.

Gathering himself up, Jimmy started what he was always good for and knew would always be his job after any fight: clean up.

**0000000000**

Cesar's home was the closest. His mother would be asleep by now and she slept like a rock. Even if she had been awake, they knew there was no way they could go anywhere else. They needed to patch themselves up, find out what was broken and somehow, calm down. Luckily, his sister had moved out a while ago. They had the whole house to themselves. Still, they boarded themselves off in the garage, unwilling to go back to a normal environment too quickly.

All in all, Audrey had to reason they weren't that bad off, not like she had first feared. Markus was pretty sure he had fractured something in his right hand, and he probably had a concussion. Jimmy was battered, but most of it was superficial. He had a nasty bruise forming on his jaw, but he said he could come up with some excuse for his parents without a problem. Tamila, thankfully, only seemed to have pulled a thigh muscle. She had some bruises, but not as bad as Cesar.

Cesar seemed to have taken the brunt of Rorschach's attacks, either from his own stupidity or Rorschach's preference. As Tamila added sarcastically, "let's see what the little Mexican _didn't_ break!" His throat now had a dark handprint-shaped bruise on it and he had dark fist-induced circles all over his face. He was pretty sure his pinky was broke and his ribs hurt. He'd go to the hospital the next day, after telling his mother he had gotten into a simple fight on the streets. The others patched him up right there as best they could.

Audrey herself had minor soreness around her ribs, but wasn't coughing up blood. She couldn't very well go to the hospital to check it out, so she hoped she had just cracked a few ribs and they'd heal as long as she went easy on them for awhile.

"Holy fuck, man! Did you see what he did?!" cursed Cesar angrily. He spat out a little blood onto the cement flooring of the garage and cursed again as Tamila tried to add antiseptic to his face. "He fuckin' used a pipe like a boom-a-rang! Damn it! He's like an evil MacGyver!"

"I thought he was pretty good," murmured Markus, gently dabbing his head with his icepack.

"Of course he's good. He's fuckin' amazing. But he's a crazy bastard!"

"Hold still!" snapped Tamila, dabbing at his cuts and bruises with a cotton ball. She sounded angry, but there seemed to be a semi-permanent flicker of worry in her eyes ever since they got back into the light.

Cesar grumbled, but quieted down. Jimmy sat next to him, nursing his sore jaw with another icepack. They had been lucky that Mrs. Canal had bad arthritis and had all those icepacks in the freezer. Audrey only allowed Tamila to help her wrap her chest up with some tape. It helped a little, but the pain didn't bother her. She prefered it, she realized, as she looked around the room.

They were all hurt. Not bad, but still hurt. Audrey swallowed hard, taking account for every scratch and bruise they had. It sickened her. No one seemed to notice her staring and the silence, while it may have been normal for the others, made her feel colder and colder.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly.

All four of them looked up and stared at her. Audrey looked away, unable to meet their eyes.

"I shouldn't have made you guys go," she said, trying not to sound as miserable as she felt. "I…I put you guys in way more danger than I should have."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," exclaimed Tamila, shocked as well as angry.

"Yeah, it was just bad luck, okay?" added Markus, giving her a severe look. "Don't you go blaming anyone."

Cesar snorted. "I'd much rather blame the crazy guy in the mask," he said darkly.

Audrey sighed, but forced herself to smile. "Thanks for seeing it that way," she said. It would take her forever not to feel guilty. Leaders got the blame for what went wrong with a mission. This one had failed, miserably. Most leaders didn't get the kind or forgiving friends she had been graced with, however.

Tamila reached over and poked her side, thankfully avoiding her sore spot. "We did good," she said firmly. "Don't be beatin' yourself up cause some crazy dude has better moves than us."

It was so easy to nod and agree. But Audrey had a feeling that none of them truly believed that reassurance.

Putting down his icepack, Jimmy looked around the room at them. "So…what do we do next?" he asked.

"Calling the cops won't do shit for us," said Tamila, scowling. She crossed her arms and leaned against the car. "Any authority forces would be able to pin us for our _criminal_ _activities_." She ended on a rather sarcastic note.

Audrey shook her head grimly. "No. No cops," she said firmly. "We keep this quiet." One word about them being involved with a guy named Rorschach—any guy—would not be good for them. Not one bit.

"How quiet can we keep a psychotic supposedly-dead guy when he's gunning for our asses?" demanded Cesar.

"I don't think he'll come back," said Markus thoughtfully.

"Yeah. He has his book. That's all he wanted then,"

"Let's hope that's all he'll want from now on," finished Audrey. She looked at them all evenly. "Not a word about him or the book to anyone and not among ourselves ever again after tonight. Got it?"

"Roger," said Cesar, saluting sarcastically. Tamila rolled her eyes, but also agreed. They all did. It was the only plan they had.

An agreement was made, but that didn't make Audrey feel any better. It was almost ten by the time they were all able to get home. Markus was bunking with Cesar for the evening, just on the off chance he did have a concussion and he needed assistance. Tamila left bravely off on her own, saying she was going with Markus' logic and didn't think Rorschach would return. Audrey watched her friend depart into the unforgiving city night and prayed that they were right.

She and Jimmy left together, but didn't really speak. They were both exhausted and Audrey felt too sick to say much. They got onto their bus in silence and sat in the front, closer to the lights. The outside, regular world flashed by without them noticing a thing.

Halfway there, Jimmy reached over and grabbed her shoulder. She jerked up, surprised, and looked at him in confusion.

Jimmy smiled gently at her. "It wasn't your fault, Audrey," he said again, tightening his grip slightly.

Nodding stiffly, Audrey didn't say anything. She smiled, thankful, and looked away. His reassurance was nice, but it didn't stop the burning in her stomach.

One long bus ride later, Audrey got off at her stop. She went home and didn't stop to speak with her parents, who were watching TV in the living room. She just went down the hall and slipped into her room. She got changed, took a shower (painfully with her ribs), and got ready for bed.

As she did all that, she tried not to imagine the man she had seen that night. A terrifying man with no face, no soul. Whoever he was, imposter or not, he had successfully beaten all five of them down. They had been training for months, years in her and Markus' cases. To be beaten down by some stranger…that was a real blow, and she couldn't really see why. They would train harder, be more ready if they ever, God forbid, ran into him again.

It didn't make sense that it was an imposter, she couldn't help but think, even though her heart begged her mind not to. He had all the moves Rorschach had. He had the same moving mask that Rorschach had. He…just was Rorschach. If he had survived, a hopeful side of her reasoned, maybe that meant that the journal's story did not end as it seemed to end. It meant that a battle in Antarctica never happened. It meant that Veidt wasn't…the bad guy.

But that was why she asked him, before he left. She asked Rorschach if it was true…his story. He said yes. He said, it was true that Veidt was the villain. That the world was living a twenty-year old lie. That…millions of people died for a cause no one even knew about. Jimmy would try to tell Audrey later, that it was all nonsense, that the man was insane. But Audrey, laying on her too-soft bed, surrounded by things she would never need or really want, remembered his voice. Remembered the truth that lay within it. When he had spoken, it hadn't sounded like a crazy person. He sounded desperate, wild, angry. But not crazy.

He just sounded like a man who had lost everything and more.

That night, when Audrey closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she dreamt—about ink covered faces, the snowy landscape of the south, Veidt's empty smiles, and fifteen million corpses that never existed long enough to mean anything—

A blue-colored god reaching out—and where his hand touched, oblivion began.

Audrey woke up already crying.

**0000000000**

Part of him questioned his own decision to answer the girl's last question. Maybe he should have kept silent until his move against Veidt. Revealing the truth too early might have damaged his credibility and secrecy. But he knew the child had been looking for answers from the start. They all seemed lost, but informed. They had been researching, perhaps. Stumbled across something they had not suspected.

And it was strangely fulfilling to watch her expression turn into one of sorrow upon hearing the truth.

Rorschach had waited until the kids headed back to wherever they planned to patch themselves up—and followed them. They never noticed, or were too tired to care. He waited out side of the house they went into, which was possibly the Hispanic's home.

They took a while, obviously to talk things over and to fix themselves up. Rorschach took the time to take account of his own injuries. Nothing serious. His shoulder was killing him; he had been lucky enough to pull just enough away from the black girl's attack. Her boot could have broken his collarbone without any problem at all. All the kids had pretty decent punches and kicks, but getting his journal back was well worth a few bruises and scrapes.

Finally, Jackson left the building, and with her came the tall brown haired boy, who had seemed so out of place in the fight. Rorschach followed them and when they climbed onto a bus, he quickly took off his face and pocketed it. He slid into the back compartment (nearly empty) through the back door, sitting behind the glass wall that was too foggy to see through, and waited. They drove on for a while and when Jackson got off at a stop (after giving the boy a quick hug), he didn't get off.

He stayed on the bus and watched the boy, who was nearly falling asleep while sitting up. Jackson was interesting because of her interest in _him_ , but _this_ kid…

The boy. Brown hair, thin features, too lanky and meek. Seemed to be the brains of the operation while Jackson was the mouth. Not much of a fighter and limited stamina. But he had something that had stilled Rorschach's heart, even in the heat of battle.

Nite Owl's goggles.

The boy had been wearing Nite Owl's night vision goggles. Rorschach had stared at them enough twenty-plus years ago to recognize them in a heartbeat.

He knew Daniel had survived Antarctica; Sally Jupiter had confirmed this. He also knew that Daniel would never just throw his Nite Owl costume out; he had at least some respect left for his old career. So either this puny kid had found a way to steal them from Daniel, or…Daniel had given him the goggles.

Rorschach got off at the stop that the kid got off at. He quickly slipped on his face and slid into the shadow of a nearby small street. The boy never noticed him and walked a bit farther down the block. He stopped at a center house in a line of row homes. The kid climbed the stairs, unlocked the door, and slipped inside.

Careless. Rorschach walked by the house and stopped in front of it. The address gleamed back and he memorized it. Then, he kept walking, heading toward a particular Catholic highschool.

There was much one could do with just a little bit of information.

He went on the logic that, because the two lived so close to one another and were obvious friends, the boy would go to the school as Jackson. This was just the beginning, however, and even if he didn't go to the same school, Rorschach could still search other areas. He had a hunch though, so he found Jackson's school and broke into the school office. _Minimal security for a school._ The computer was alien technology to him, but he took his time to get what he wanted. He used the address and looked up the child registered under it.

_Hollis, James W._

Hollis. _Hollis_. Rorschach wanted to punch himself. It was so obvious, so, so… _Daniel_. Taking up the name of his mentor, shielding himself from those who didn't know of the two Nite Owls' connections to one another. Sam and Sandra Hollis…it was the perfect cover.

And now, he knew that Daniel had a son, James. The age of the boy fit perfectly with the timeline of events. They lived right there, in the city. Had slipped back into the place Laurie and Daniel had once called home without ever making it known it was their home.

He had his book and now he knew where Laurie and Daniel lived. Things were falling into place. Everything was turning around. Rorschach took to the streets, trembling from nerves and the possibilities of what this all could mean.

He would start to formulate a plan. He didn't want to move in that night; both parents were home. He wanted to speak with them one at a time. Preferably, Daniel first.

Journal tucked safely under his jacket for the first time in weeks— _years_ —Rorschach felt content enough to just patrol and catch crime unaware. And when the first rays of dawn made their way over iron towers and Rorschach stole back to his newest hideout, he felt safe enough to pick up his old and only habit:

_Rorschach's Journal  
November 1, 2004_

_Finally back. Will confront Dreiberg tomorrow. Will keep up patrol in the meantime._

… _It was a good night._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/Ns  
> -"Evil MacGyver" – he is, though! Think about it! "MacGyver" is a reference to a famous TV show character who was a secret agent who was well known for his improvisation skills, specifically with weapons and creating, well, random things. Like lockpicks out of lint.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rorschach visits an old friend. Both Dan and Jimmy get heart attacks. Finally!
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"Modern men are afraid of the past. It is a record of human achievement, but its other face is human defeat."

-Walter Lippmann

* * *

The locking mechanisms on the door were nothing to speak of; only a deadbolt and a keyhole. A swift kick would have broken right through; he opted to just pick the lock. No dog or security system. Too lax. Served them right if they were ever truly invaded.

They had every reason to fear an attack. They were still wanted by the law and had little possibility of friendship from Veidt; they knew too much. They knew everything. Disaster had pushed them west and into hiding. Then again, they had escaped and then returned to the origin of that disaster; a nice move, when Rorschach thought about it. Hiding in plain sight.

But not clever enough to escape him, not now. Daniel and Laurie had enjoyed twenty years of blissful ignorance; that ended today. They had had their time to forget the sins of the past and live like nothing was wrong. Like there was no crime in their silence. Like their silence never was.

Rorschach shut the door and looked around the foyer. White washed walls, flowered wall paper trimming, white wood table against wall—all of it sickeningly white. Too white. Not for Daniel—not for any one of them. None of them deserved to wear white. Not anymore.

Rorschach walked down farther into the hallway and looked around slowly at the details. Family pictures with three happy people—two of the faces unsettling familiar yet strange. Too old for Daniel. But it was him. Same with Laurie. Older. Fatter. Different.

The boy in the middle between them was familiar only because of the night before. Short brown hair, glasses, thin and tall. Easy to see Nite Owl in him. He needed more weight though. Too skinny.

Rorschach moved on. He found the living room, the bathroom, and the kitchen. The stairs led up to two bedrooms and another bathroom. Average living; domestic. Nothing that would hint at a connection to the Watchmen or Crimebusters. There were no pictures of Sally Jupiter among the family photos. There were only photographs of the immediate Hollis family; just three.

There was nothing to suggest otherwise of who they were. He almost didn't recognize his old partner. No traces of the old hero the world had known. That he had known.

By noon, he had searched the entire house. They had hidden their memorabilia well. There were no traces of it. The only area of remote interest had turned out to be the boy's closet. Stashed clumsily, but well enough to apparently fool his parents, was a dark suit. It was too outlandish for someone to wear outside, not in this new conservative environment. Rorschach didn't jump to conclusions about anything, but he certain that the intention behind the costume was not one a conservative person would have in this Veidt controlled New York.

Were these kids trying to pick up the old Crimebusters' legacy? Rorschach felt a twinge of some kind of emotion flare up in his gut again as he went back to the main level of the house. If so, why would they launch an assault against him? If anything, the journal should have prompted them to move against Veidt, if anyone.

Perhaps after he talked with Daniel, he would have to approach the boy as well. Straighten some things out.

Quarter to one, Rorschach was in the kitchen. He ate some lunch meat in the refrigerator door and went through the cabinets. All other clues would indicate they were just another family, another group of ordinary, blissfully ignorant citizens. He briefly wondered if Veidt had truly lost track of them in the sea of confusion that must have happened after the Event. He didn't even know how they got off Antarctica—

"Why is this thing—?" A sigh. "I told him to lock up before he left…that kid!"

Rorschach froze as footsteps from the front door came closer. Someone was walking

He remembered that voice too well.

For a moment, that feeling of fright or flight danced through Rorschach's body. He didn't want to be there and yet he did. He didn't want to see Daniel, not now, not after everything that had happened—but he did. He wanted to see it. See what his old friend would say, do…feel.

He had to know.

"Jim, is that—?"

Daniel walked into the kitchen and stopped at the doorway. Anything Rorschach wanted to say died in his throat. Daniel's eyes went immediately to him. There were so many things that passed by on his face—fear, disbelief, confusion, pain. Daniel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Just a gasp that died in his throat. His eyes widened and he dropped his workbag that hit the ground with a dulled thud.

The pictures in the hall didn't do much to truly alert him of the changes his ex-partner had gone through. He was rounder, saggier, just older all around. He held himself up like an old man, not like the fighter he used to be. All the muscle became extra weight. There was a weaker, resigned look to his features. Like everything he was had gone soft. The spark that used to be there in the famed Nite Owl was gone.

But his eyes were the same. Of all the things, those eyes were the same.

_Eyes meeting eyes—last chances—hearts attempting to reconcile—_

Rorschach clenched his fist, but that's all he did. He didn't say a word. He had nothing to say or nothing he wanted to say.

"R-Rorschach…"

Rorschach didn't say anything. He tilted his head at the name, though. Daniel opened his mouth to speak again, but only air came out. Rorschach wanted him to say something else, to be the one to speak. But it seemed neither one of them were able to say what they wanted—or needed—to say. The air became so intense, Rorschach couldn't breathe.

"You're alive," Daniel said finally. It was barely audible, more like a whisper. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. So many sickening emotions carried in his voice—fear, sadness, joy, disbelief—relief.

"Daniel," Rorschach said pointedly.

Flinching and taking a step forward all at the same time, Daniel stared at Rorschach with desperately wild and fearful eyes. As though he were the phantom Sally Jupiter had called him. As though he were just a ghost, either come to haunt him or doomed to disappear.

"H-how?" Daniel asked, stopping a few feet closer.

"Manhattan," Rorschach answered simply. He didn't know how or why the blue man did it, but he knew it was because of him.

Daniel tried to talk, but it seemed so difficult to. "I…I saw you…" he began, but he stopped himself. He moved toward the table, watching Rorschach with the same wild eyes. "There's no way…no way…"

"There are no answers," Rorschach replied, watching his old partner move like the feeble old man he shouldn't have been ( _or was that just shock?_ ). "But…I'm here."

And that was proof enough to show that he wasn't dead. He was alive. The whys or hows…they'd have to wait for everyone, including himself.

Daniel stopped at the table and seemed to lean against the edge for support. He looked at Rorschach, speechless again. He shook his head just slightly and stared at the smaller man. The tension began to disappear, minutely, and Rorschach could suddenly breathe. A new emotion seemed to fill the room. Hesitant, apprehensive happiness. He looked up and met Daniel's gaze, silently enjoying those still-familiar eyes.

"Oh my God," Daniel said, his voice wavering with emotion, a smile that strangely made Rorschach's heart hurt beginning to form on his older features. "You're alive."

"Hey, dad, you home?"

Rorschach froze and then realized that he had forgotten something: the boy. He looked up and saw Daniel's face shift from shocked happiness to utter horror. He spun around and looked out of the kitchen entryway. A young man stood there. He had his own shock on his face, quite similar to his father. A dark bruise stretched across his jaw on the right side. The boy stared at his father, but kept looking over at him with fear…and recognition.

 _Remembers me._ Rorschach tilted his head, interested. … _Good._

This would be interesting.

**0000000000**

Dodging questions at school was fun. No one would believe he had been in a fight. He didn't quite want to tell anyone he had gotten beat up (by an old man no less), so he just said he fell outside. Audrey was luckier and could hide her injuries. Somehow convincing his highly suspicious mother that he had truly fallen was the trickiest part; she was more certain he had gotten into a fight. And lost. Because that's what James Hollis did.

Needless to say, Jimmy moped all day. It was a Friday, but this year, the schools hadn't been closed for 11/2. They did get out a little before noon, though. He missed the day off, but he was kind of glad he had work to distract himself with. _"Yes"_ had reigned in all their minds since last night. _"Yes"_ meant a lot, a lot no one wanted to think about. 11/2 was always a serious holiday in Jimmy's mind, but that day, it was torture to exist through.

He stuck around after school a bit longer than he had planned, to work on a science project with his physics group. As he climbed the stairs to his home, Jimmy was thoroughly exhausted. He wasn't up to anything extra after last night. They were going to be heading out for real soon, to the streets, but last night was different than what he had been used to doing. Most of the criminals he had ever taken head on weren't infamous, insanely strong zombies…

The door was already unlocked. Jimmy sighed and stepped inside, knowing either his mother or father was home. He saw his father's coat and workbag on the bench in the hallway, so it was the latter. Jimmy kicked off his shoes and plodded down the hall to the kitchen.

"Hey, dad, you home?" he called as he reached the entrance to the smaller room.

He looked up and saw his father standing next to Rorschach, both looking up at him in surprise—

…Jimmy slowly looked back at the two figures standing in front of him. His father looked mildly afraid, staring at him as if he had just stumbled across his father eating the cookies left out for Santa. Jimmy turned his head stiffly and stared at the other man, Rorschach. Jimmy blinked. The man was still Rorschach. He blinked again. The mask never changed.

_HOLY SHIT._

Jimmy opened his mouth to speak, but his whole body went numb. He didn't remember thinking anything. He couldn't think. The world suddenly seemed overwhelming large and fast.

"Jim!" said his father, his voice cracking. Rorschach tilted his head just slightly. Jimmy flinched back, starting to breathe faster. _This was not happening. This was SO not happening…_

He tried to think of what Audrey would do. She'd talk. She'd say something. But what would he say now?

"Hi, dad, bye dad, gonna do my homework," he said quickly, moving backwards. He almost tripped over his own schoolbag, but adjusted himself just in time. He tried to only stare at his father, but his wild eyes kept wandering over to Rorschach, who just _stood there_.

"Uh, Jim," his father began, obviously unsure of what to do himself.

Jimmy didn't give him the chance. He spun around and grabbed his bag. He tried not to run, but he managed a sloppy rushed walk up the stairs, shaking badly. He stumbled to his room and fell inside. The door slammed behind him and Jimmy slid down its back, unable to stand any longer. He was breathing heavily and he clasped his hands together to try to stop shaking.

Calming down was the first step. Jimmy let out a gust of air and dropped his head back against the door, eyes tightly shut. He would move on from there. He tried to think. _Plan of action? Call Audrey. Call the others. Get the hell outta Dodge…_

Opening his eyes, Jimmy ground his teeth together and forced himself to stand. There were things to do.

**0000000000**

Watching his son retreat up the stairs was unnerving, but at the same time, Dan felt immensely relieved. Maybe Jimmy just thought that Rorschach was a friend. Or some kind of co-worker. Or…or…

It didn't matter what he thought. The good thing was that he was out of sight, not there, not listening to their conversation. Jimmy was almost an adult, but there were still things Dan just couldn't…let his son know. He didn't deserve that kind of burden. _Maybe when he's eighteen…_

Dan turned around slowly in his spot, after making sure Jimmy really had gone back to his room, and looked back at Rorschach. Rorschach was looking back at him, but he turned and looked behind him. Dan swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He had no idea what to expect anymore.

"Your son?" Rorschach asked, looking the vague direction of where the stairs were.

Dan nodded stiffly, unable to feel just a little uneasy. This was Rorschach. His friend, perhaps, but also, on occasion, insane. He had no idea if the man was feeling angry enough to want revenge against his ex-partner. He doubted the man was a ghost or hallucination now. "Yes. His name is James," Dan finally said, trying to keep his suspicions out of the conversation.

"I know," was the simple, emotionless reply. If Rorschach noticed how tense Dan was, he never made any sign. He just continued to stare out at the now-long gone boy…or at nothing at all. Dan could almost never tell with Rorschach, ever.

"We…named him after you, you know," he said before he could stop himself. Rorschach turned at this. Dan stared into that hauntingly familiar face and forced himself to smile, just a little. "Walter. His middle name."

The inkblots moved. At one point, Dan had been able to tell what those signs meant. They were just alien blobs now. "Not my name anymore," growled Rorschach, though he didn't sound angry.

"It was," replied Dan, shrugging, sitting down in one of the chairs at the small table.

The kitchen fell silent again and Dan stared at the wall, suddenly feeling sick. The surreal nature of the whole meeting was beginning to play havoc with his mind. But when had his life ever been normal? Even for the last twenty years, there had always been doubts or worries. Thoughts taking him back before 1985. He had stopped going to the hanger under the storage unit immediately after putting his old memorabilia there. Seeing those items…was too hurtful. Not when his heart still clung to old times. Laurie called him a fool, but he knew she still kept her Silk Spectre necklace hidden away, deep in her old jewelry box in the hall closet…

"Has your hair," Rorschach suddenly said, which was oddly…conversational.

"Laurie's eyes," added Dan, smiling again.

Rorschach grunted. "Skinny. No training?" he asked, becoming suddenly aggressive as he turned to face Dan.

"Wh—no," said Dan quickly. He glared at Rorschach, knowing where this was heading. "Rorschach, Laurie and I…we tried to keep up the hero business after you…you…after Antarctica." He didn't know what happened to Rorschach anymore. "But the government, and Veidt," at the name Rorschach growled lowly, "they kept blindsiding us. Our new identities were almost compromised. Then, Laurie got pregnant with James." Dan sighed, frustrated, and looked away, unable to meet Rorschach's non-existent eyes. "Kids change everything, Rorschach, believe it or not. We chose our family over the masks. We had to it. It was pointless to continue, not with Veidt's planning and the government bending over backwards—!"

"Not pointless," snapped Rorschach. "You quit. Again."

"For my wife and son," yelled Dan, standing up so swiftly, the chair creaked. He was pissed now. "Damn it, Rorschach, I know, I know that we should have stayed and fought, to reveal the truth, but y-you can't just throw away the fact you have a _child_!"

"A child worth the rest of the world?" Rorschach demanded.

"Yes, he is," Dan snapped, breaking the barrier, and taking two angry steps forward, daring to stand within just feet of the masked man.

Rorschach stared up at him, faceless, fearless. He didn't move or even seem to breathe. But the inkblots morphed continuously. Dan stared at the inky mess and tried to imagine ever having understood what each picture meant.

But the familiarity that seemed to grow in his mind, which used to just be full of paperwork and worries only suited for fathers and working class husbands, struck a cord deep inside him. He remember that mask and all it used to mean. The fighting. The freedom.

The tension and anger in his chest disappeared almost all at once and all Dan was left with was exhaustion. He stepped back.

"I'm sorry. I…shouldn't have yelled at you like that," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, a mother of all headaches forming. He glanced over at Rorschach.

Rorschach only stared at him, inkblots swirling once or twice. One kind of looked like a butterfly. Dan sighed and closed his eyes again. This was getting too much for him.

The unanswered questions—the most pressing being how Rorschach was even alive and there in front of him—were beginning to become more troublesome. Dan couldn't even begin to come up with answers on his own. He looked over at his friend and wondered if it would do any good to ask him directly. He knew this wasn't a vision or dream—that would be too kind to his heart—but the truth…could have been anything. Anything.

Rorschach was looking at the stove now. "Know what day it is?" he asked suddenly.

"November second." _The anniversary of the day you died. What's that? Your deathday?_

"Remember at least that," muttered Rorschach, moving away from the table. He looked around the kitchen, as if interested in something.

Dan sighed. "It's not a day that I'd ever forget," he said quietly. Like a nightmare that like to return to his dreams every so often.

"Veidt won," said Rorschach, turning only his head to stare at him.

"You died," replied Dan.

The blots swirled again. "Not dead." Rorschach turned away again, running his hands over the counter top.

"Apparently." Dan stared at Rorschach and moved closer. "Care to explain that part?" He had seen the man die. Jon wouldn't just _screw that up_.

Rorschach shrugged. "Don't know."

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"

"Don't," was the simple grunting reply.

Dan sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. He could feel the wrinkles and the old-age fat. Memories of the real Hollis flashed through his mind and Dan felt a pang of nostalgia and fear in his gut. There was no stopper on the clock. They had all thought themselves invincible when they first took to the streets. But Laurie and Dan had both found out through the years, raising a child, creating literal new lives for themselves, that the clock does not slow. Dan looked away, at the stove, trying not to think about time slipping away, or the memories of when the clock just didn't matter.

"Found journal," said Rorschach suddenly. Dan looked up and saw Rorschach holding a brown leather book.

"That's yours?" asked Dan, surprised. Rorschach keeping a journal just didn't…seem right. He had no idea what his friend's literacy level was, however. Perhaps he could write.

"Used it before murder of Comedian," replied Rorschach. He started to tuck it back into his jacket.

Dan suddenly felt nervous. "What exactly do you plan on doing with it?" he asked, already knowing just what.

"Veidt needs to face justice for crimes," snapped Rorschach, angrily. The inkblots danced. "Evidence—any—should be brought forward."

Dan felt his face pale. "Y-you're not thinking of making that public are you?" he asked, shocked.

"What else?" Rorschach asked, almost bitter. He shoved the journal into his jacket completely and turned his head away, angry. "Witnesses not as willing as they should be."

He wanted him and Laurie to go forward with him. To act as firsthand witnesses before the world, exposing what they had discovered in Antarctica.

"I can't do that," Dan said, trying not to sound as guilty as he felt. He shouldn't have felt guilty; they had done nothing wrong. They hadn't done anything, to be honest. That burned deeper than if they had done something, he figured.

Rorschach said nothing. He just snorted and kept looking away. Dan knew he wasn't just looking at the flowered backsplash. He could glare a hole through steel, even without his eyes revealed. Dan studied that mask, either trying to catch up to years of missing it or just…looking at it. It was so alien. So…unfamiliar. Dan swallowed hard, trying not to remember how familiar it used to be. The punching, the striking, the victories and the shallow cuts and bruises, followed by life or death thrills that made his heart beat with furious passion…

There would be no going back to that. They gave up a whole lot more of themselves than just the truth. Dan closed his eyes and tried not to think about everything his heart was feeling. It was an old heart as it was. Older than he had remembered, than he had ever imagined possible to have. There would be no going back at all, for anything.

"Listen…I know it's not much, but Veidt hasn't ever approached us here or in Chicago," Dan said. "He's been so busy with world affairs in the last decade. He hasn't visited New York since 1999." He paused, having already gotten Rorschach's attention back. Dan just didn't know if he should say what he had planned. "But…he's coming back in December. For some charity event."

He didn't know if he was adding fuel to the fire or not. He didn't know if he was sending his friend to another pre-mature death.

"Already heard," Rorschach said bluntly. Just like always.

He turned away and looked about the kitchen. Probably looking for things to critique or he just doing it out of curiosity. Dan sighed softly and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Part of him would have loved to wake from this vision and know it was just a dream…

But the part of him that reveled in the fact that he hadn't let his best friend die only yards away from him was very, very glad that this _wasn't_ a vision.

When Rorschach began to walk, Dan looked up. The smaller man, just as unclean and unkempt as ever, as if twenty-years had had no affect over his body or person, began to walk toward the exit past him. He stopped about halfway there and looked over at Dan. There was an awkwardness there, like during the time Rorschach had actually offered him a handshake so long ago.

"Thanks for the meat," Rorschach said.

Dan stared at him, and once the confusion passed, he realized Rorschach had undoubtedly raided his kitchen again. Biting his lip, Dan looked away, trying not to laugh. "Sure thing, Rorschach."

He looked back up and saw Rorschach had turned away and started to move toward the exit. Dan watched him move and it was like suddenly he was back in that horrible place, where the snow burned and everything just seemed to catch fire.

" _What are you waiting for?" he whispered._

_Dan opened his mouth to speak, to stop it. Too latealwaystoolate—_

Dan shut his eyes when they began to burn. He couldn't stop his mouth from opening now, however, and forcing his lungs to work. "Rorschach," he called.

He heard Rorschach stop and turn. Dan looked up and stared at his old partner. There were a lot of things he'd probably want to say later on, or wish he had said then. He had no idea when or if ever he'd get a chance to see Rorschach again. He could have apologized again. Or told him how much he had missed his old partner and how much it had hurt him to have let him die in such a terrible, terrible way. But Rorschach hated sentimentality. He only loved duty. So Dan thought of his own duties.

He knew Rorschach didn't need or want to hear anything but that.

"Just…" he began, unconvincing, "promise me something, Rorschach."

There were no eyes to blink or share inward feelings on that monochromatic face. "No promises," Rorschach replied. His voice was like sandpaper. Just like Dan remembered.

"Please don't speak to Jimmy," Dan began, looking at the floor instead of his friend's face. "He…doesn't know about me or Laurie. Or you…or any of us."

He heard Rorschach shift slightly. "Secrets like that don't stay hidden forever," he replied.

Dan looked up, half-surprised, half-resigned to cryptic answers. Like always. "I know," he said quietly, meeting Rorschach's invisible gaze.

The inkblots swirled for a moment, maybe meaning something. Dan couldn't tell anymore. "He's not as blind as you think."

Whatever that meant. Dan sighed and looked away, closing his eyes to try to push back the headache that was slowly forming at the base of his neck.

"The world's working its way to peace," he said, forcing his voice to carry over to the stopped man. "Give it a bit more time. We'll get peace."

Just like Adrian promised. Just like he promised.

Dan fought the urge not to vomit.

Rorschach had turned to look back at him after saying that. The inkblots moved rapidly and then stopped, staying in a position that reminded Dan of a Jack-O-Lantern. Rorschach kept Dan's gaze for a moment. Just a moment.

"For how long?" he asked.

Brutal, unsentimental responses from Rorschach were like a trip to the past. For a moment, Dan was once again brought back to the nights where they fought crime and saved the world every night under the light of streetlamps and the sanctity of a single city. He was brought back to feeling the joy he felt when he had resisted the Keene Act finally with Laurie at his side and saved the innocent again. He was brought back to Antarctica, where all those delusions were brought to a crumbling demise at the hands of future promises and a single, disastrous day.

By the time Dan looked up again and wiped his eyes, Rorschach was gone, the front door left hanging open, letting the whole world in. For the first time in nearly twenty years, he heard the sounds of cars honking and dogs barking—the true sounds of New York City finally returning.

Dan looked over to the stairs and looked upwards, where he knew his son was waiting for an answer. Maybe he even knew it was going to be a lie. In hindsight, they hadn't had to lie often to James. Maybe their names and their origins, but he had never asked anything they had to really counter with a lie to protect the truth.

Maybe it was time to start telling the truth.

Gathering himself up, Dan headed to the stairs. He tried to think of what to tell Laurie when she got back. She probably wouldn't believe him that Rorschach was there. But maybe she would. Maybe she would recognize his smell lingering around or the disheveled appearance of her kitchen. Maybe she'd believe the empty, broken look of her husband.

The top stair creaked and Dan winced. He didn't know what to say to Jimmy, that was for sure. He would start out slow, maybe revealing Rorschach's identity first. Jimmy had always idolized the Watchmen, now that he had thought about it. Maybe he would think it was cool his average dad was in contact with a supposedly missing ex-hero…

Dan knocked hesitantly on the boy's door, but there was no answer. Dan opened it carefully, peering around for the curious face he was expecting…

But the room was empty. At the window, he saw the foldable fire escape extended downwards. Dan stared at it in shock and then looked to the bed, where a neat note was laid, waiting to be found.

_Went out with friends. I'll call you._

_-Jimmy_

Dan stared at the note and suddenly felt ill. Everything was moving too fast. It was too surreal, too…out of control. He felt himself lean against the door, but his mind felt like he was sinking into a dark pit, careening out of control. The future seemed more and more chaotic. There was nothing he could do now, he knew. Whatever would happen would happen.

He could only hope that things wouldn't fall to pieces for a second time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the kids finally make it to the streets! But what's the problem with Dan?


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Nine: in which the Crimebusters make their debut on the streets of New York, and Dan worries.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"Every right implies a responsibility; every opportunity, an obligation, every possession, a duty."

-John D. Rockefeller

* * *

Markus' house was the most out of the way to get to, at least for Jimmy and Audrey. It was also probably the least usable for meetings or get-togethers of any kind. But his mother was at his grandmother's until nine and the house was theirs for the time being. Rorschach had found out where Audrey lived and now Jimmy's, so, logically, Markus' was the best place to rush to for an emergency meeting. When everyone finally arrived, Markus ushered them all into his extremely small living room, where they sat on the floor and couch, all doing their best not to freak out.

"He was in my _kitchen_ ," Jimmy said, his voice cracking in near-panic. "Talking to my _dad_. I-I can't believe this!"

"I should have known they'd be in contact," Audrey growled from the couch. She had half of her face pressed into her hand, her frustration almost palpable in the air around her. "They did use to be partners. He would have put two and two together if he had found out your name, Jimmy."

"What the hell would he want with Jim's dad, seriously?" Cesar demanded, angry. He was leaning against the coffee table. "It's been twenty fuckin' years. Jimmy's never seen the crazy midget around before. He's only goin' now 'cause of us. He's up to something."

"Maybe he just couldn't find the Hollis'," Markus countered, frowning by the window ledge. He nodded at Jimmy, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf, looking miserable. "I think you might have just given him a leg up, you know? To find your parents."

"But why?" Jimmy asked, with startled eyes.

"I have no clue." Markus frowned. "Maybe he honestly just wanted a chat."

"Oh, sure!" Cesar snarled sarcastically. "He's _totally_ the tea and biscuit guy. I'm sure they had tea parties _all_ the time back when the fucktard was last roaming the streets!"

They continued to argue and talk quickly amongst themselves. The only one keeping silent and probably the only one who didn't feel that upset by all this was Tamila. She was seated opposite of Audrey on the couch and observed the others talking and couldn't really add much else but a few sighs. She knew she probably should have been a little more concerned, but maybe it was just shock holding back her feelings. Right now, she felt pretty numb.

"I swear, the guy's a fuckin' zombie," Cesar continued, forcefully tapping his clenched fist on the coffee table.

"Would you please stop swearing?" Audrey demanded darkly, glancing at him.

Cesar, looking thoroughly insulted, opened his mouth to speak, but Markus cut him off, now starting to look agitated himself. "We need to focus," the largest of them said in his usual deep voice. You could really get lost in that voice, Tamila mused, especially when you weren't trying to listen to the words it was carrying. "Let's go back to the start. What happened? Who are we facing? Is it really worth getting upset over?"

"Situation: unknown crime fighter has appeared and caused a confrontation on the streets. Possible old Mask," Audrey responded automatically. She glared at the wall. "His identity is still unconfirmed."

"But it's possible that he is a real Mask," Tamila said bluntly. Not time to mince words, even though Jimmy winced like she had started to scream something foul. "He's dangerous and strong. He definitely resembles the old guy."

"Who came back from the dead," Cesar added darkly. Audrey didn't look at him that time.

"His involvement with us was at first limited to the journal we had apprehended, which had belonged to the real Rorschach," Audrey continued. "He seemed to have emotional attachment to it, but that doesn't guarantee that he actually owns it. He could be a fanatic. Or just an impersonator."

"But the situation has changed again," Markus continued, their trains of thought running in the same loop. He frowned, severe. "The unknown Rorschach has approached Jimmy's father, who we have confirmed to be…um, an old acquaintance of the real Rorschach."

"That doesn't mean…" Jimmy began, but trailed off awkwardly. He huffed and glared at the floor. Tamila sighed and resisted the urge to comment. She was just too tired to berate the kid now.

"It could mean a lot of things," Audrey conceded. She brought her legs up to her chest and gave them all an equally level stare. "But the facts are facts: he's a strong masked man who resembles and acts like a previously-thought dead Mask from the Pre-Event era. He has established a connection with another Pre-Event hero and an item connected with the real Rorschach. If he's faking this, he's one hell of an actor."

"With absolutely no life to speak of," Cesar said.

Markus and Jimmy chuckled slightly. Tamila was about to add her own commentary on the social life of the apparent super (who probably had a multitude of psychiatric disorders that she could pick apart for future mockeries) but Audrey abruptly stood up.

Tamila watched her carefully as she moved around the compact living room. Tamila was never a think-then-act kind of person, but she had an appreciation for someone who could think calmly about something, especially one where hysteria was expected. And boy, could Audrey think her way outta anything. Or at least, Tamila mused, she sure hoped Audrey could, 'cause there was no way this could end without a fight otherwise. And honestly, Tamila wasn't exactly looking forward to fighting Rorschach again.

"There are just things about this that I don't like," Audrey began, pacing the room slowly. She turned and looked at them with a pointed expression. "Rorschach is at least sixty years old. He fights like he's twenty."

"Zom-bie," Cesar enunciated for her.

Audrey scowled at him, so he looked away with a frown of his own. "Obviously, we're missing something here," she continued, very serious. "The only clue he gave me was, well…"

"Manhattan," Jimmy added quietly.

That name did nothing for them and Tamila felt her stomach twist unexpectedly. _Blame it on the Boogeyman, why don't you_ , she thought grimly.

"That could mean anything. And remember," Markus replied, his voice growing louder as he emphasized his statement, "this guy is completely, one-hundred percent _nuts_."

"Yeah. Take his words like a grain of salt. He's crazy as hell," Tamila added, agreeing. It was crazy to suggest that Manhattan wasn't behind the Event. That was like, written in stone, permanently true. Nothing else _could_ be true, anyway.

Jimmy looked sick. "Even the crazies can tell you the truth," he said, staring down at his feet. He swallowed hard. "The truth can be crazier than a lie."

Markus turned to Audrey, suddenly uneasy. "Audrey, I know it freaked you out," he began, almost sounding guilty, "but you never elaborated on what the journal said."

"I told you most of it," Audrey replied almost automatically. Tamila scowled at the Asian's apparent dismissal of her previous freak-out. Not that the neat-freak would admit fear or anything. She was Miss Perfect (which wasn't too bad of a characteristic for a leader), but it sometimes got on her nerves how Audrey would never just say that she was scared or something. Nice to know a book could take her down a peg and let her be, you know, human for freakin' once.

"It ended…at the Event?" asked Jimmy.

Audrey stared at him without turning her head. "The day before," she responded carefully. _Ooh, touching a nerve there?_ "Nothing else is written after that. He apparently turned it into the _New Frontiersman_ office that night before heading off to…wherever they were going."

"Antarctica," Tamila supplied quietly. She met Audrey's calm stare easily, even though her own skin crawled at the word and what it really meant.

Markus let out a low sigh. "Not to make anyone freak, but who the hell else has had a massive location in Antarctic in the last twenty years?" he asked, sarcastic.

Jimmy dropped his head into his hands with a groan. "I can't believe any of this is true," he half-whispered. "It's too…too fucked up."

Tamila couldn't help but agree. The idea that Veidt was behind any of this…was more than disturbing. She never really liked the dude. He was kinda showy in a bad way and never really did anything personally to help her or her family out. But that was it. She never had a reason to dislike him a lot or even hate him. He was just this guy running around pretending to be Superman.

But there was a difference between playing Superman and playing God. Adrian Veidt, according to this Rorschach guy, had played God. And got away with it.

For the first time in her life, Tamila felt a tiny twinge of hate stir up in her gut toward the Golden Man who haunted television sets and history books everywhere. She didn't know if he really deserved it, but if he did, that hate would grow faster than a wild fire.

The room fell silent again. Whatever the others were thinking, Tamila didn't want to know. She rubbed her face and eyes, suddenly exhausted. She wanted to fight crime. She wanted to save people. But save the world, or at least, tell the world about a lie its been living for decades? No, that wasn't what she ever considered as possible, let alone pleasant to think about. Heroes like them—like the ones before them—weren't real super-powered heroes in comic books. All they could do were the small things, like the streets of New York (though that wasn't exactly very small). The rest of the world was untouchable.

Then again, look at what the Event did. No matter who pulled the trigger, Manhattan or Veidt, one of the old Masks did it. The entire world was changed over night. Tamila shivered.

_No matter who did it, that person had the power to change the whole world. What the hell could I do?_

The answer of "nothing" wasn't comforting. Not. At. All.

Suddenly, feet appeared just outside her vision. Tamila looked up, not even having noticed she had looked down to begin with. Audrey was standing in the center of the room again, hands on her hips. Tamila thought for a moment that the kid was going to go on another self-righteous spiel, but something was different. Suddenly, the gloom that had permeated the room began to fade unexpectedly.

"If Rorschach wants to screw with us, he'll have to wait," Audrey said, her voice serious, but when Tamila looked up at her eyes, there was a glint of excitement in the darkness. "We have more important things to worry about at night than him."

Having been sulking the whole time, Cesar stopped and looked at her in open surprise. "You mean…?" he trailed off, hopefulness ringing in his voice.

Audrey started to smirk. "Right. The costumes are done, Jim's got our maps and gear ready, and we know our routines down perfectly," she said. Unable to stop herself from grinning, Audrey stood back and motioned with her hands in mock-carefreeness. "We're going to the streets."

Tamila's smile grew monstrously large and Cesar let out an ear-ringing whoop. Markus and Jimmy started to laugh and exchanged a hearty high-five.

"When?" Tamila asked, reclining back into the couch, still grinning madly. Oh, hell, yes. This was all turning around beautifully.

Audrey looked at her and gave her a smug smirk.

"Tonight."

**0000000000**

Hernando Esposito had moved into the neighborhood two weeks after the Event. He had everything that was needed for the struggling people of the Bronx: medicine, clothes, blankets and security. He was a low key crook, collecting favors, exchanging money and drugs over a period of time. He had settled in nicely to his new little corner of the world, the unofficial mob boss of a recovering borough. Audrey had grown up knowing his name, as had most of the kids who dared to venture any further than the sidewalk in front of their homes. By the time her generation had begun to be exposed to his criminal dealings on the street, the Bronx's low-lives were already revering him as the Boss.

The air was sweet that night. Light. Fresh. It didn't belong to a city night. Esposito's gang was making a move that night, transferring almost twenty-five kilos of cocaine from one stash house to the next. Markus had found out from one of his brother's old friends, who was one of the dependants on Esposito's coke collection. It wasn't a large move, nor as bad as what Esposito normally did at night when the cops went away, but it was still a crime. A perfect starter for CBII.

There were rules to follow, rules Audrey had all but drilled into their skulls. Safety always came first. If you didn't think you'd come back, you didn't go in. They would go in pairs of two; someone always had the night off unless it was a group movement. Tamila and Audrey never got paired up. They were tough, they all eventually reasoned, but it never hurt to play it safe and have them work with one of the larger guys. (Tamila had been less than pleased by this, but Jimmy's logic of putting feminist ideals aside for logical safety eventually won her over in the end.)

The second rule was more of a suggestion than anything: be hard on crime, but give them a chance to surrender. Even the sheltered Jimmy and the kind Markus had to be incredulous of that one. All five of them had done their fair share of nightly patrols, long before having met each other. They had all learned the secret Rule Number Two, the one no one would ever really say out loud. It was the unspoken law of the streets and for people like them:

_Never hesitate, 'cause if you do, you're dead._

The idea of a gangbanger surrendering and turning himself in was a great fantasy, Tamila would tell Audrey, but _come on_. It was a fantasy.

And as they slipped out onto the streets quarter to midnight that evening, they all knew that it wasn't fantasy. They might have looked like they were _loco_ , Cesar joked, but they were all unwaveringly serious.

At East Mitchell Street, there was a loading dock for some sort of meat factory. Esposito had almost all the small business in that area under his thumb, so hiding his "merchandise" was always an easy thing. But in all his fame, some of his better known secrets like that were his weak spot. He thought that spreading rumors about himself would make himself seem tougher, bigger; and there was no threat in doing that, because everyone feared him.

Or at least, he thought everyone did. By acting bigger than he was, he had attracted the attention of the only people who were brave enough—strong enough—use that information against him. And his downward spiral started _tonight_.

Audrey had to admit, when they set up outside the loading dock, her heart fluttered with nervous apprehension. She wondered what they were doing, rather, what they were even thinking. They were still kids, still young and stupid. They couldn't fight a drug lord…

But she had fought worse by herself, and now, they were a team. They had trained for this moment for almost three years. And while this wasn't just one guy, but an organization, it meant more than stopping just one man. Taking down a man like Esposito by methodically removing his economic power on the streets was more than just taking down a rapist or a mugger. They were stopping a system of corruption. More than just one life would be altered. They were protecting their entire neighborhood.

And that really, really made everything seem so much easier to believe in.

There were five men at the dock, all of them undoubtedly armed with a gun, maybe something worse. It was, as Cesar called it, a "Shoot-Em Up Galley." The men were surrounded by the dock itself, so rounding them up would be simple. Jimmy and Tamila were the "Welcoming Committee" who'd meet the thugs head-on. Cesar had the roof. Audrey and Markus would bring up the rear, blocking all exits.

After that, it'd be a simple beat down and anonymous call to the cops. All according to plan.

**0000000000**

Jimmy wasn't a fool to think their plans were solid or concrete. Audrey methodically went over things, over and over again. That might have made her pretty accurate in the long run, but it also made her less than willing to admit that there was room for a margin of error. So Jimmy brought in the safety-based logic and gave extra instructions that would let the others know what to do if the "easy plan" when south. Like, extra escape routes and what to do if they got cornered…things that were kind of redundant, but still important to know.

Audrey nodded at him after they had one last short conference before all five split up to their assigned positions. Markus and Audrey disappeared into a dark alleyway, to cut around to the front of the meat business. Cesar practically skipped over to the fire escape, humming with excitement.

That left him and Tammy. "Let's do this," Tamila said, grinning madly. She clapped him on the back and started off down the sidewalk. Jimmy could see everything clearly, even at night, thanks to those goggles. Who knew they would have fit his costume so well?

He sighed, pushing the last few doubts out of his mind, and followed her. Fear was replaced by cool calmness, originating from the one thought that went round and round his brain: _time to fight time to do something right time to be a hero again_

Time to kick some ass.

**0000000000**

The drug dealers were at their car, talking like the whole thing was some freakin' party. If she didn't know better, she'd think they didn't care if the cops came across them moving pounds of white power from the back of the meat shop into their car. They weren't even hurrying. They were taking their fuckin' time.

_Well, time to do some party crashin'._

With Nite Hawk close behind her, sticking to the shadows like some real ninja or something, Dark Squall inched closer to the front of the small parking area. There were no guards or anyone on alert. The criminals really thought they were safe. After tonight, people would talk. It might take a few weeks for any thug to take them seriously, but in time, this could be really fun. They would just have to take what excitement they could from these unsuspecting idiots in the mean time.

It was a quick set up. Dark Squall, poised at the edge of the boarded fence and still under the cover of the building's shadow, looked up. Coyote finally came into view above the lot. He moved quickly, whipping out a dark objects—probably his favorite semi-automatic—in silence. He crouched low, ready to let loose dangerous rounds if the fight got out of hand. He claimed to be a sniper, but Gestalt told him to minimize gunfire, at least tonight. He probably had one hell of an itchy trigger finger. Dark Squall could only hope he had enough sense to aim for the _bad_ guys.

Finally—the sign. Coyote flicked his wrist toward them. Nite Hawk shifted slightly, his breathing hitching. Dark Squall felt her whole body go numb—and then everything became very, very still.

She dodge-rolled out into the dim lighting of the parking lot's only light, her heart racing from pure excitement. Looking up swiftly, Dark Squall saw the surprised and already angered expressions on the faces of the five men. One was holding probably the last bag of loot and he was staring at her with the dumbest expression. The one to his right made a laughing sound and smiled, unsure about some unknown joke. Dark Squall grinned back, nastily.

"Laugh at this, jackass," she snarled.

Having climbed up over the fence with the agility fitting someone his size, Nite Hawk jumped down from the building's left wall, his faux-cape giving him added flight. He landed right in front of the car and the bewildered lackeys.

By the time any of those thugs knew what was going on, Dark Squall was already dashing across the lot, watching the back of Nite Hawk's head as the kid roundhouse kicked the closest criminal in the face.

It all became overwhelmingly simple from there.

The first guy went down with a pained yell. Nite Hawk sidestepped him easily and went for the second man, who stood just feet behind the first. Dark Squall kicked off the front bumper, aiming for the third man on the left, who had gathered his senses, and was reaching for his hidden weapon. She kneed him in the face, bringing both of them down hard onto the rough pavement. Without hesitating for a moment, Dark Squall brought up her fist and hit the guy twice. She twisted his wrist that had gone for the gun, forcing the weapon to clatter to the ground. She kicked it under the car as she stood, yanking the man with her.

Punching the man in the face prompted her to think—reminisce. She had fought criminals numerous times on her own, but without the costumes and without the group effort. She thought maybe, if anything, those two things could make the night easier. But as she let her fists fly and felt the rhythm of the fight overtake her, she felt it was different this time. It was more real, more tangible—the good that they were doing, that is. The costumes were silly and she didn't need companions to fight…but they added a special something that she realized utterly completed the taste of justice. It was just right.

Overhead, she heard two gunshots. Spinning around and dropping her target, she saw Coyote poised with his riffle, still as a statue. He would never be that still or calm or alert without that mask on, Dark Squall knew. She berated him for his ignorance and rash behavior, but she knew that once he hit the streets, Cesar Canal was a totally different man. Now, as Coyote, she knew he was more than some sarcastic and childish mechanic.

The man Coyote had shot appeared to have been trying to sneak up on Dark Squall with her back turned. He dropped with a strangled yell, but there was no need to worry about the trash dying; Coyote only used rubber bullets. At least on routine missions like these.

With a wave of her hand, Dark Squall silently thanked their rooftop watchman and turned to focus on their remaining opponents. Nite Hawk had made quick work of the first man he had attacked. Both turned on the last man standing about the same time the said-target had managed to pull out his gun. He managed to let out one round—but was terribly unable to focus on where he was shooting. The round missed Nite Hawk completely, giving Dark Squall enough time to grab the shooter by the back of the neck, whirl him around, and slam his face onto the hood of the car. She did this twice before yanking him backwards. Nite Hawk caught the man by the back of the legs and sending him sprawling. Spinning around violently, Dark Squall caught the man's jaw with the base of her boots, almost grinning when she felt the impact through its soles.

Movement to the side of them caught Dark Squall's attention. She looked up and saw the first man Jimmy had gotten was up. He sent a terrified glance their way—and then took off running. She would have gone after him immediately, and probably would have Nite Hawk, but they didn't both once they saw the man had chosen to escape through the store.

" _BLITZKRIG, GESTALT_! INCOMING!" Dark Squall shouted, kicking the man in front of her down permanently with one more hard kick. She looked up at the building, heart racing again. For a second, she almost wanted to warn the criminal not to go in. Not that she had a change of heart or anything. It might have been even comical to watch. But she didn't dare step inside the pitch-black interior of the building for one simple reason:

Running into Gestalt in the dark was _not_ a fun idea.

**0000000000**

Waiting while everyone else got a chance to fight wasn't the best part of their planning. None of them liked to wait for any reason; waiting got you killed on the streets. But no matter how much she denied it, their impromptu-leader was a thinker before a fighter. Blitzkrig personally hated waiting around, but he trusted Gestalt's plans. He had fought in street fights since he was ten and went after crooks on his own for years after that, but there was something intriguing about bringing brains down into a fight. He had never seen one of their plans come into fruition, though, so tonight…tonight was exciting for a variety of reasons.

He heard the man scrambling in the darkness, well after Dark Squall's warning. Blitzkrieg wanted to storm out and greet the thug head on. He was definitely the best fit for bringing a man down with a tackle to end a fight early. But Gestalt didn't want this one down permanently, so Blitzkrieg hung back against the wall. He would supervise the interaction, to make sure Gestalt didn't make a lethal mistake. He knew it was silly to worry, though; "Gestalt" had been in practice for a long time and she knew her own plans, and movements, very well.

"Gestalt" was a funny word. He hadn't understood the name when she first picked it, but over time it became a very, very clear choice. Gestalt didn't go for the legs or the arms or anything lethal. She didn't aim to incapacitate through one clean move. She went for where it _hurt_ , all at once, without mercy or hesitation. Her methods incapacitated and confused her targets with greater accuracy than any punch or kick.

After all, Gestalt was a "study of the senses."

The man ran straight into Gestalt's path, so there was no hope for him to escape. Even in the dark, Gestalt's well-practiced moves were unsettlingly accurate. Two fingers got the guy in the eyes. He screamed and reeled backwards. Gestalt didn't let him move far; she grabbed his shirt collar and gave him a four-fingered jab to the throat, earning a strangled shout. She grabbed both his wrists and yanked him into her bent knee, catching him in the chest, knocking the wind outta him. He hit the ground hard, but Gestalt grabbed his hair and yanked him back up to face her. One hand firmly on his ear in a painful twist, and the other holding the guy's head aloft, Gestalt kept her knee planted firmly in the guy's chest. Somehow, in the middle of all that, the gun in the guy's hand had fallen to the side, useless.

Blitzkrieg bit his lip and watched carefully.

Gestalt leaned in close to the wheezing man's face. "Is this all the material that you were moving?" she asked, lowering her voice strangely, making the syllables longer and slurred, as if she were mimicking her grandmother's Korean accent. Her "Mask" voice, it seemed.

The man garbled something. Something cracked, maybe his hand, and the man screamed again. Blitzkrieg watched carefully, ready to help Gestalt in case something went wrong.

"Is this all the cocaine you were going to move?!" Gestalt snarled, louder. She shook the guy hard and he yelped.

"Y-yes," he said, still strangled.

A lie, maybe, but not likely. Gestalt slammed him onto the concrete, hitting his head. With a quick punch, the guy was out. Just like that, it was done. Gestalt stood up smoothly and seemed to watch the man carefully, waiting for movement. Nothing happened.

"Nice," Blitzkrieg said casually as they moved closer together.

"Thanks. Let's get outside," Gestalt replied simply. There was a tremor in her voice, though. Blitzkrieg held back a grin, even in the dark. It was nice to think that even she was getting caught up by the emotion of it all. She was probably smiling too.

Dark Squall and Nite Hawk had made quick and clean work of the other criminals. A glance up at the empty roof told Blitzkrieg that Coyote had done his job and was heading back down to them. Earlier, the two gunshots had made him nervous, but all seemed well. At least for _their_ team, that is.

Nite Hawk looked up as both Blitzkrieg and Gestalt approached, and nodded. He moved back for them to see the only man still conscious, pinned against the side of the car by Dark Squall's solid foot. Gestalt moved in front of the man, silently assessing it. She moved her hand, probably to tell Dark Squall to just knock the guy out and end it all, but the man in question made a strangled sound that caused all around him to focus their attentions on him.

"You're dead," the man wheezed, his teeth stained red. He coughed as if he were trying to laugh. "Your families…your…fucking lives are…over. N-never gonna…escape—!"

Without allowing him to finish, Nite Hawk grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the side of the car. The man made a strangled sound, but Nite Hawk just stared him down, faces inches apart. Blitzkrieg could just barely see the expression on his companion's face.

"You assume that we're acting as lone citizens," Nite Hawk growled right into the guy's face. There was no mercy, no kindness, no remnant of the scared little boy he was during the day, on his face. The mask hid most of his eyes and features, but what little there was completely captured the real James Hollis. " _We_ are Crimebusters. Tell your boss to clean up his act. Or we'll do the cleaning for him."

Then, fluidly, Nite Hawk punched the guy straight in the face. He went down soundlessly, lying right amongst his other companions. Nite Hawk stepped back, still wearing that terrifyingly serious expression. Blitzkrieg held his breath. He didn't know why he did, but he couldn't force himself to breathe as he looked at the boy, or eventually around at the others.

A shiver of excitement went down his spine.

They were ready to do this. They were doing this. They…they were finally here.

Coyote approached them from the lot entrance about the same time that Gestalt took out a small gray box. She tapped something in and pressed a little red button on the side. "Cops are on their way to this address," she announced coolly. And that was that. Time to pack out and move.

"Just one more thing," Coyote interrupted, grinning madly. He reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a silver can with a gold top. Blitzkrieg stared at it in shock. _A spray paint can?_

Nite Hawk and Dark Squall both groaned loudly, but Gestalt said nothing and Blitzkrieg laughed.

Coyote shook the can, smirking smugly as he approached the criminal's car. "We have to let the city just who's new in town. Not like these dudes are going to be talking any time soon."

"That's what they make calling cards for," Nite Hawk snapped.

"This is a calling card," Coyote replied smoothly.

Gestalt tilted her head and crossed her arms against her chest. "They won't be using their car either," she said. She nodded slightly, surprising her companions. "It's time to let the world know exactly who's walking these streets. Do it."

Chuckling, Coyote painted a quick, but very clear message on the hood of the car. The others gathered around the car and Blitzkrieg could easily see the giant C and B glittering in the poor lightly. Next to them, Coyote painted the Roman numeral for two and stood back to admire the work. Blitzkrieg could only grin.

_Ready or not, New York, here we are._

In the distance, police sirens were already audible. Gestalt made a motion with her hand; split up show's over. Without a word, the five ran to the way they came and scattered on the street. They'd meet up again at Markus' in about an hour and celebrate properly. In the mean time, Blitzkrieg was content just to run the streets. He and Dark Squall ended up running along side each other for a few streets before she veered off down one back street. Blitzkrieg knew he should have gotten off at a side street soon too; his outfit was too obvious. But he kept running. He felt that if he stopped, he'd lose the feeling he was currently feeling. That feeling made him feel more than alive. He felt as though he were soaring over the pavement and under those gorgeous city lights.

Eventually, when the sounds of the police became too loud to ignore, Blitzkrieg tore down an alley. It was narrow, but empty. Garbage fluttered on the ground and Blitzkrieg only stopped when he came next to run-down dumpster. His legs gave out, adrenaline running thin now, and he collapsed against the wall, barely standing.

For a moment, Markus almost came back, but Blitzkrieg resisted. He just wanted another moment to rest. To feel everything the way it was at that moment in time. He sank down the wall and just sat there in silence.

He felt the city's heartbeat and felt his own fall into sync with it. His head throbbed and his skin felt hot. Everything was moving so fast, but he didn't want to slow down. City sirens and distant cars honking reached him, and slowly, he began to unwind from Blitzkrieg.

For six years, he'd been fighting crime. Not in costume, but he never thought he had needed one. But now, it was clear as day for him, for all of them. A piece of cloth didn't make the man, but it forged them into something else. Some supernatural. Something untouchable. Something superhuman. For just a moment, he wished his wretched father were actually able to see him there; watching men like him crumble under his fists was going to be undeniably glorious.

Markus laid his head against the cold brick and laughed softly—his heart feeling more free than it ever had before.

**0000000000**

"… _reports are coming in, though nothing is clear as of right now. Late last night, the police were given a report of a gang altercation in Southern Bronx, where gunfire was also reported. However, when the police arrived, they found five men—all known repeat offenders—incapacitated. When one finally came to at the hospital, he gave a startling story that he was assaulted by masked individuals. The numbers vary, but the largest number given was five, apparently young, vigilantes."_

Dan stared at the television screen, eyes never leaving it. A cold sweat had begun to form at the base of his neck and if he weren't already seated on the couch, he was sure he'd have fallen over by that point.

" _Chief Rowland has made few comments on the matter, though he has insisted that these apparent violators of the Keene Act, passed in 1977, will be identified and apprehended."_

A smaller, yet solid form pressed into the couch's surface behind him. "I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad one," Laurie said in an almost-teasing voice. She sighed. "Then again, look where that got _us_."

Dan didn't answer and tried to focus on the news reporter as she made some rapid points on the story. A police snapshot of the warehouse lot in question flashed on the screen as she spoke.

"… _efforts to identify the individuals in question are turning up minimal leads, though the police have assured us that they are going to put all their efforts into discovering just who is breaking the thirty-five year old law. In the meantime, they did discover a calling card of sorts left by the vigilantes at the scene of the incident."_

On the drug dealer's car was spray painted in brilliant gold paint: _CBII_. Dan felt his mouth go dry.

A strained laugh above him made Dan flinch. "CBII? That's Crimebusters II, Sam," Laurie said, arms crossed against her chest. She looked a cross between pissed off and vaguely amused. "They're copying the older masks. They're…bringing it back."

"This was one isolated incident," Dan replied simply. He sat back on the couch and let out a long, heavy sigh. He felt like the world had been flipped on its back without letting him know first. "I just can't believe that anyone would be that stupid to try this now…"

After the strong crack down and enforcement of the Keene Act after the Event, much due in part to Veidt's involvement, Dan had not expected the return of the masks at all. They were old news, not to mention very-much illegal. Ten years after the Event, he might have cheered these vigilantes on. Now, he was doing all he could not to kick his foot through the television screen.

Laurie was considerably more liberal about the matter. She looked down at him and smiled slightly. "They're just kids," she said quietly. As if that were reassurance. "Like we were."

"They're probably younger and less skilled than we were," Dan countered. He tried not to sound as bitter as he felt. "This is…wrong, Laurie."

Laurie stared down at him in surprise and then put up a guarded frown. "You're not supposed to call me that," she said in a low voice, even though Jimmy wasn't home.

"Can you blame me?" Dan demanded, irritated, looking back at the television, though he wasn't watching anything now. "I've seen so many ghosts in this last week, I've begun to think I'm haunted."

Telling Laurie about Rorschach's sudden appearance had not been easy. They were both lucky Jimmy had decided to camp out at Markus Bennet's place for that evening; Laurie had not been willing to keep a low-voiced opinion about it. She cursed and swore, called Dan a liar, told he had dreamt it, hallucinated it—but in the end, broke down in tears and almost called Jim to come home right then and there.

"I know his stench," she snarled, throwing the package of lunch meat Rorschach had eaten from into the trash bin angrily. She emptied half a bottle of Fabreeze trying to get rid of the smell, even after it had been exterminated. She was still sniffing the air suspiciously. Dan didn't know if she was angry with Rorschach, or just the insanity of it all.

What Dan couldn't wrap his mind around was, _Why now?_ Why, after twenty years of silence, did the man—who was supposed to be deader than dead—show up in his home? He looked the same as he did before, minus the hat. Dan had kept the hat. He buried it with his other memorabilia in the underground base. Back in Chicago, he had tried to keep it in his closet, to be able to see it often…but it ended up going in the crawlspace. Because every time he saw it, he remembered November 2nd and wanted to punch a hole in the wall.

If Rorschach had shown up ten years ago, maybe even five…it wouldn't be as awkward. But now…things were different. Part of Dan was overjoyed that his former partner—the closest thing he had to a best friend—was alive. That would have been alright. But the other part of him, the one that had gone "soft," the father, the measly newspaper editor who lived a middle class life with his wife and son—this was _not_ alright.

"Strange, isn't it?"

Laurie had been quiet, but suddenly she leaned forward next to him again. Dan looked up at her comment, distracted from his darkening thoughts.

"What's strange?" he asked.

Eyes narrowed, his wife stared at the news reporter, who had eventually moved onto another story. "Rorschach suddenly shows up, to speak with us…" she began, "and suddenly, New York has some new costumed adventurers."

Dan stared at Laurie and blinked, momentarily stunned. "Y-you don't think…? La—Laurie," he said, tripping over the long-forsaken name awkwardly, "that's…that can't be related."

"Why not? Hell seems to have frozen over adequately to allow the guy to walk around again, even after Jon blew him up into oblivion," Laurie said, standing straight, her words bitter and harsh. "Kids in masks? Crimebusters II? Once Veidt catches wind of this, he'll be all over this city." Dan looked up and met her burning eyes. "I don't know if Rorschach and these kids are connected, but you know damn well what's going to happen if either group sticks around."

Witch hunts. Anti-mask riots. Veidt's swift and mighty retribution upon New York. There was more than a substantial risk of him finding the two of them here. Everything they had built—their identities, their new lives, their family—all of it could burn at a stake created by Adrian Fucking Veidt.

"We came back because of the time that had lapsed in between," Dan murmured, gazing out at the wall, feeling strangely numb.

"No, Dan," Laurie replied, her voice sharp, but quaking. "We came back because you loved this damn city so much." She inhaled, the sound shaky and on the verge of becoming a sob. "Because I loved this damn city so much."

Dan reached up and grabbed her hand. She gripped back tightly and he just tried to hold on. He didn't look at her, though. He stared at the wall and tried to stop the feeling he had of being closed in upon.

There was a chance that this was a fluke. That the kids were just one-time shows. They'd see the truth soon enough. This was not a place for children to crawl around at night. The citizens of New York knew that their city didn't deserve all the praise it got as a "Center of Peace;" none of them were that naïve.

And Rorschach…Rorschach, if real, needed nothing from him. He wouldn't be back. Not in dream, nor in flesh.

"Give it a few more weeks," Dan said quietly. "If Veidt moves, so do we."

Laurie gripped his hand tighter. "We should tell him now," she said. He knew whom she was talking about.

Dan wanted to agree. He wanted to say, "Okay, let's do it tonight." But just the idea of mentioning to Jimmy the truth—who they were, even…even the truth about the Event—that sent a chill down his spine. So many what-ifs plagued his mind; What if he rejected them? Hated them? What if he was terribly affected by the truth about Veidt? Would they be destroying life as Jimmy knew it? What would he think of them, and their role in it?

What would Jimmy think of Nite Owl then, if he learned that his hero had left his best friend to _die_?

All Dan could do was shake his head and then the front door slammed.

"Mom? Dad?"

Laurie let go of Dan's hand immediately and moved away from the couch. Dan turned around slowly and looked up at the foyer. Laurie greeted his son by the door and for a moment, all Dan could do was look. Look at his son, his only child. Jimmy looked tired, but apparently happy. New York had not succeeded in touching his son, at least for now.

Veidt had not succeeded in taking away this treasure from them, after taking all the rest.

"I wish you had told me earlier you were going for a sleepover," Laurie chided gently, smoothing the boy's hair down. "I would have been home earlier to say good bye."

Jimmy grinned. _God, he had his smile_. "Sorry, mom," he said, as unapologetic as any teenage boy would be. "It was kinda spontaneous. I had fun though."

"Audrey and Tammy didn't sleep over too, did they?" Laurie asked, suspicious.

"Of course not," Jimmy said, chuckling. "Guys' night only."

Dan swallowed hard and listened as his family made small talk, and laughed, and smiled, and just…existed in its intended peaceful state. There was no need for violence here. No need for masks or Veidt or life or death choices.

Jimmy was turning eighteen in June. He would get the truth then, and could decide for himself what road to take.

"God, mom, what'd you do, dump the kitchen in the whole bottle?" Jimmy complained as he entered the kitchen. He shook the half-empty Fabreze bottle and Laurie made a choked laugh.

"Some garbage spilled on the floor," she said, her voice light and airy, "but I guess I went a little overboard."

Dan looked at the TV and watched nothing as his eyes burned. Someday, Veidt would be behind them. Someday, he'd know his family was safe and that no revenge obsessed gangsters would harm them.

Someday, he'd have the strength to burn that hat and bury the goddamn ashes once and for all.

Someday, he'd stop asking the world for its forgiveness.

And someday, he'd have the courage to find his best friend and ask him for his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: A certain someone decides to finally show their face, and then Markus apologizes to New York.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -I don't know if anyone will mention/critique this, so I shall beat you to the punch: Yes, the kids are acting much too flippant about the whole crime fighting business. Yes, Rorschach will tell them they are morons. Whether they take this advice to heart will be revealed soon.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohai, there you are, Veidt. What dastardly things have you been up to…? Then, Markus apologizes to New York.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"Real integrity is doing the right thing, knowing that nobody's going to know whether you did it or not."

-Oprah Winfrey

* * *

It was a beautiful day.

It had been quite some time since he had had the opportunity to just look out the window at the sky. The sky looked the same from the many windows he had looked through, over cityscape and empty wilderness alike. But it was a pleasant sight, no matter where he was. Today, gazing out of his office window out above the streets of Philadelphia, Adrian Veidt basked in the glow of the setting sun. In peaceful moments like those, he had time to reflect. Reflect on his life, on the world—and on his plans.

Peace was not yet to be found across the globe, but he had made, in his opinion, good progress. Almost the entire western world had come to agree to the Moscow Accord, his and Gorbachev's united effort peace plan to eliminate the threat of global war. While the nuclear armaments were only gradually being decreased ten percent every five years, the real progress had been made in the actual politics of the world's most powerful government. It was now increasingly difficult to declare war on another nation, as the warring nation had to first move to an appellate court of the major United Nations to file an official complaint. With the world so eager still to escape its turbulent and destructive past, however, the chances of a dispute reaching that level of contempt was unlikely. The chance of a nation finding a reason to declare war on another was even more impossible to think of.

And so, Adrian Veidt could, for the first time in many years, find reasons to sleep well at night. Mankind had its salvation. Manpower and resources that once were put to violent enterprises could now be focused on humanitarian efforts. Africa was no longer starving. The American homeless grew less and less.

He had saved this world.

But there were times when even he could not rest his eyes and mind at night. There was only one dark mark remaining on his picturesque image of peace, and that was Afghanistan.

Adrian could not blame the Afghans for their hostility toward the Moscow Accord, or any Western helping hand, really. The terrors they suffered at the hands of the Soviets, and the lack of United States aid, had left a bitter resentment in the population toward westerns. His own involvement in politics—as well as the Event itself—had come just moments too late to save the Middle Eastern nation from the horrors of war. The soviets pulled out so suddenly, leaving them all to hang, and Adrian's own intervening had only managed to tame the poverty and damages left by the battles fought there. He had barely managed to scratch the surface, he saw in hindsight.

And then there was the opium. Oh, if his plan held one error, that had been it. He had been naïve to assume he could let his presidential successors handle the delicate issue of clean up in the war torn Afghan nation. In an initially goodhearted gesture, the president had passed legislature to crack down on illegal substances trade. It was a good move for global peace, but a terrible one for Afghanistan—as opium was one of their strongest export. Without it, they had little else to support themselves with, and that is why, since the early 1990s, they had begun to lash out at the western superpowers. The Taliban had attempted to move in 2000, setting the Western nations on edge for a possible war, the first real threat of one in many years.

Now, nearly nine years after he had given up the seat to his successor, Adrian had time to look at his carefully crafted world, and his only failure.

Things needed to be rectified carefully, he noted, watching idly as one of his ozone-safe aircrafts flew overhead from the airport. He had easily maneuvered back into the political reigns as a foreign advisor for the new president. His own company had attempted to get involved in the crack down on illegal substances trade, including the opium trade, but Adrian had spotted the trouble almost immediately. Before they got rid of the drugs, they had to stabilize the nation. But that could not happen so easily now, with political and cultural relations so soured by the past.

This would take time and patience. He only prayed that the world could wait just a little longer as he prepared for more negotiations with Afghanistan's leaders. He could fix this. He had to. And he would, he confirmed to the doubt plaguing his mind, as the horizon in front of him changed from pinkish red to the dying shades of blue.

He barely heard the door to his private office open, but even still, the voice of his personal assistant didn't alarm him. "Mr. Veidt, sir?" her assertive voice carried. "You have a message from Mr. John Yardley." His publicist? "He says it's urgent."

Adrian didn't guess at what the call was about. He had been more reclusive than usual lately when it came to publicity outings. But a quick call to Mr. Yardley almost had him alarmed. Almost.

"Did you see the morning paper today, Adrian?" Yardley asked quickly, his rapid and punctuated way of speaking quite natural to Adrian's ears at this point.

"Yes, I did," he replied, moving papers aside on his desk to glance at the front page of _The Philadelphia Inquirer_. His _New York Times_ was still in his briefcase. "What ever is the matter?"

Yardley did not waste words. "They're claiming a new bunch of costumed heroes are popping up in New York, your old stomping grounds, actually," he said. He spoke loudly, but Adrian could almost hear the frown of disapproval in his voice. "They don't know much about them yet, though."

Adrian withheld a smile, even if the other man couldn't see him. "I hardly think children in costumes are worth getting upset about, Mr. Yardley, even if they do seem to be emulating myself or my previous associates," he said. The sight of the crude calling card on the drug dealer's car was oddly nostalgic.

Apparently, Yardley seemed to think it was a big deal. "What should we do about them?" he asked abruptly. "I mean, they might be kids, but they're stirring up waves. Waves that could come back to smack into you."

"They are children. Our world has more pressing concerns than children pretending to be heroes," Adrian replied dryly, turning away from the paper. "The local police will handle them."

"Of course, Mr. Veidt," Yardley replied, not convinced in the slightest. Adrian sometimes regretted picking such an observant man for his agent. "I was just wondering how we should respond to any media inquiry. The likelihood of the newspapers to pick up on your previous involvement with the original Crimebusters is high. They'll want your opinion."

"I have no opinion, because I am not involved," Adrian replied automatically. He glanced out of the window again, the sun now just an illusion on the brim of the horizon. "…Tell them, I disapprove of the dangerous position the children are in, and wish them to avoid that dangerous life, before they get hurt. Tell them that."

That was all true, he conceded. He couldn't imagine anyone staying in the habit of fighting crime. His reformations of the police forces in major cities like New York were impeccable. The common drug dealer or pimp was an annoyance, but he could come back to those minor problems after solving the larger, global ones. If kids wanted to live out the remnants of his own failed history, Adrian didn't see why they couldn't find out on their own exactly why he disappeared from that obscure life for one in the awareness of the mass public. They knew nothing of how the world worked—but they would soon learn, he mused.

But after hanging up the phone, and returning to his quiet observation, he made one more phone call. A quick warning, if one could call it that, to his associates at the New York City police commissioner's office. "Don't underestimate them," he warned fairly. "And keep me informed, if you would."

He would not be kept in suspense of the happenings in his own city. December was too far away for his tastes; he wanted to walk the same streets as the people he had saved no more than twenty years ago.

And if there did pose a problem with these new heroes, he added to only himself, he wanted them taken care of before his visit. He wanted it to be a happy visit. Or at least as happy as he could afford to let himself become.

The sun disappeared and Adrian was left in the cold embrace of night.

**000000000**

In two weeks, they had managed to get on the _New York Times_ three times, cover page. They managed to appear on two different news stations. The Internet was their biggest audience it seemed; multiple discussion forms and websites had popped up overnight, with people frantically trying to figure out the reason for new Masks to have suddenly arrived on the streets. Crimebusters ("II" as Audrey insisted on adding after the name) was causing a real stir, and so far, people didn't seem alarmed, only curious.

Markus knew that he and the others should be happy for this achievement. They didn't want to cause panic and they wanted the public to like them, to a degree. If they could erase the last forty years of negative Mask publicity, that'd be great. This Crimebusters was smarter, better equipped, and given far more opportunities to work anonymously.

But because all nights ended—no matter how wondrously active and eventful—Markus had to return to the civilian world, where he was just a son, a student, and a construction worker. Every morning, he found himself wishing the day away, just so he could get back out on the streets at dusk.

Life was busier than ever before. He went to his morning classes at the community college before heading over to his job at the construction site in Harlem. His nights were always busy now and he was finding little time to just be at home. His mother laughed about how he must have been seeing someone, to cause him to be out so often. Markus had to laugh too; he hadn't had a boyfriend in years and had no plans on obtaining one. His job—his real job, the one at night—took precedence over everything else.

But he still had to get up in the morning. After dozing through a literature course, he went straight over to the zone he was stationed at, carrying his gear with him. He didn't mind construction—but it was more like reconstruction. The city had done wonders cleaning out the mess the Event had left behind, but still, parts remained. They reminded Markus of deserts—dead wastelands. He never saw any stray cats or birds in those areas of the city. They must have sensed the death there, too.

After checking in with his supervisor, Markus started on his tedious tasks. Removing rubble with cranes and CATs was easy enough, but the ground was sometimes too weak for the heavy machines. Manpower was needed, to remove the smaller twisted beams and crumbling concrete.

When he first started this job, Markus was amazed that anything actually remained in the devastation zones. He'd figured the blast would've taken out everything.

And then he was informed that they didn't work on the locations that were hit the hardest; there was nothing to clean up there. This was just the _outskirts_ of the blast zone.

"Watch yo head, son," someone called, carrying a beam that grazed the top of his head.

"Sorry," Markus said, glancing behind to flash the older man a quick, but thankful smile. He focused on the concrete and tried to get lost in the gray.

Yes; gray was much better than Blue.

He wasn't one to scare easily, or at least, that's what he told others and himself. His brother taught him how to take physical punches and his father taught him how to take emotional ones. He had never been afraid of anyone, really. He certainly was never afraid of Audrey—well, perhaps when they first met, for only that moment—or Jimmy, or even Caesar. Tamila could be scary when angered, but she was never a threat in his eyes.

But all it took was one theory from Audrey and the book she had found—and Markus found himself suppressing a shiver.

He was not one for conspiracies, but this—this was too much, even for him. He had never like Veidt, was always so distant for all his publicity. His mother raved about him, wore his perfume, voted for him twice. His brother stayed out of politics. Markus wasn't sure he'd like Veidt even if he knew him personally. The guy just seemed like a genuine a-hole.

As much as he tried to sell Rorschach and his journal off as the ravings of a madman, Audrey's logic, as usual, had sense to it. He spent the last few nights, his body exhausted from his rounds, wide-awake. He'd listen for footsteps when he knew there would be none. He kept seeing blue when he closed his eyes—and when it wasn't there, he kept imagining why it was absent. Questions he hadn't even considered as possible popped into his mind—and all he saw was Veidt.

It did make sense, in a way, that Veidt could be at least partly responsible. Looking into old news footage, Markus did see that both Veidt and the then-stable Dr. Manhattan worked closely. It was easy to pin Dr. Manhattan's attack on a momentary rage-induced spontaneity, without Veidt's involvement, but it was also just as easy to imagine Veidt might have been involved, even just by prompting his friend to do something. Heck, maybe Veidt was the one to set him off.

And then, of course, there was the terrifying concept that Manhattan did nothing at all and Veidt…did this. "How", Markus had difficulty fathoming. The "why" was much easier to answer: power. Veidt did seem to have swooped in at just the right moment. The guy was a philanthropist before, but he seemed almost eager to aid the fallen cities, New York especially. Maybe he was just nice. Or maybe he did have an agenda.

He didn't know where to begin looking into this—or whether or not he should even look at it at all. The others seemed content ignoring the matter. Markus was half-tempted to agree.

"The dead are dead. No use now to try to figure out how they're dead," Tamila told him on the way home from patrol. Her cynicism mirrored his own. "We can't touch either dude, so right now, let's just focus on these street rats."

Her words made sense. Regardless, Markus would be sure to keep tabs on the politician's movement in the media even closer now. He didn't know what he'd find, but if he did notice something off about Veidt, he'd be sure to—

_Squeeeeeeak._

Freezing, Markus looked down. He had moved away, preparing to go on his break, considering it was almost three now. A small noise from below made him hesitate.

Buried under a piece of concrete and layers of caked mud and dirt was a little doll.

Markus bent down, the sun baking his bare back. With dirty hands, he freed and picked up the doll. It still made noise, after twenty years.

 _Oh, man_ , he realized.

It had been here for _twenty_ years.

He stared at the generic doll, which seemed so frail, so unimaginably small, in his dirt-covered hands. He imagined the girl it used to belong to. Maybe she was white, or maybe black, or maybe an immigrant. Maybe she was just headed into school. Maybe she was an infant, or a pre-teen—maybe this had been a gift, or an heirloom, or just a toy bought in a dollar store. Maybe…maybe she had given the doll a name, had loved it, had cherished it so dearly.

Markus stared at the doll and wondered.

He wondered if history would remember this little girl. In the grander political end of things, no one would, he realized. There had been too many faces and lives lost to remember each and every one. She would fade from recognition. She would be forgotten. She already was.

Clutching the doll and bringing it to his aching heart, Markus proudly accepted the responsibility of remembering her. He was only one person, but even one person to remember her would have to be enough. He prayed it would be.

The day went on and Markus focused on the gray. It was numbing, cold, unnatural—but it gave him solace from the harsh feeling of reality. He loved the feeling of triumph he achieved over the bad guys, but he hated the feeling of loss they all experienced when they realized _they can't save everyone_.

At five, Caesar called, just as Markus was about to catch the bus home.

"Hey," his friend began brightly. "'Sup, man? 'Sup?"

"Hey, 'sup?" he answered almost automatically, as if it were a normal exchange between friends. Well, it could be—but he doubted it.

Cesar was the King of Un-Subtle but at least he attempted, Markus mused. "So, Audrey was thinkin' maybe we'd get together tonight. You know, the group of us."

"You bring popcorn," Markus replied, chuckling. "I'll get some movies."

With a cheerful good-bye, Cesar was off, probably to get his gear and prepare. Markus himself would grab dinner and spend at least an hour with his mother before slipping off. The group didn't meet at anyone's place specifically anymore. They just went and met at a location predefined earlier and then—they would separate into teams of two and three. They'd find crime by chance that way.

Sadly, they never ran out of those chance occurrences. Someday, hopefully, but for now, they were in abundance.

"Ha, nice doll, Bennet," someone laughed as he moved with a group of fellow workers towards the corner.

Markus smiled, refraining himself. "Hey, man, it's a relic," he replied wryly. They laughed and he kept the doll, his grip around it ever-tighter.

 _The world is forgetting_ , he realized with grim realization. The pain, the loss, the fear—the Event itself. It would be remembered as a date, like the Fourth of July or Pearl Harbor, but not for its meaning. Veidt had given the world security, and in return, it turned a blind eye to the devastation of 1985. _Another strike for you, Adrian Veidt._

They could not change the future, or the past, by fighting crime in costume. They couldn't save the world, only small pockets at a time. But they could change minds. They could make people remember. Clutching the doll in his fist, Markus looked at the fading horizon and grinned.

Tonight—and every night—he would make sure that this city remembered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> -I fail at modern history. Please excuse any really weird/implausible historical errors here. I'm kind of basing it on real events, but considering this is an AU future, I'm taking some liberties.  
> -"boyfriend" - No, this is not a typo.
> 
> Chapter 11: Rorschach gets bored and the kids have reasons to worry.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Eleven: in which Rorschach broods and the kids realize they're not alone on the streets.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"All men should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why."

-James Thurber

* * *

A frightened scream—day had just faded and darkness pervaded the streets—the smell of smoke and waste decaying—

Oh, he had missed this.

It did not take long to discover the origins of the screaming. Woman, trapped by two flanking males, fighting for her purse and for her life—such a typical thing. A typical horror played out over and over, night after night. It never got old for men like them. It never got old for Rorschach either, to walk in on their debauchery and feral assault.

It never took long to shatter their illusions of being in control. Slipping from the shadows of the buildings encompassing the scene, he moved faster than they could look up. A simple twist of an arm— _a shattered bone_ —coupled with a jab to the throat— _a dying scream_ —brought one down. The other, a larger man, hit back hard, but Rorschach hit back harder. Brought the man down to his knees, breaking teeth and cartilage as he went. Blood sprayed and a half-drowned garble of pain sang.

Encounters like these were never simple and never painless, but they were always quick. It took only a handful of minutes to subdue the men, leaving them motionless on the ground. The woman had screamed and took off during the fight, leaving a shoe behind in her haste to escape. Abruptly, the moment and thrill ended.

As the woman's footsteps disappeared into the background symphony of a city's night, Rorschach stood before the two would-be muggers and took the time to think, even as he deposited a single scrap of paper down at the feet of the bodies. Certain things he dared not bring up in his own thoughts—like how this midnight marauding made him recall patrols with Nite Owl, or how he had managed to get to this specific point in time.

So, he thought of the one thing that demanded the most attention: Veidt.

Going back to the streets had solved the initial problem of _Now what?_ , but Rorschach knew nothing could cover up or erase the urgency of handling his two largest problems. The streets had calmed his nerves at the upheaval of being dumped twenty years into the future without a single explanation, but it did not solve all his concerns. Veidt had to pay for what he had done and Rorschach had every intention of finding a way to vindicate all of those lost to the Event.

The problem now consisted of _how_ he was going to get close to the famous Adrian Veidt.

A frontal attack would be suicidal. It may have been true he had nothing to lose and every reason to expose Veidt for his crimes directly…but Rorschach knew Veidt too well. He had twenty years to build an empire. He was untouchable, saved from persecution of any kind by his name and various guards. It did not matter he was much older and probably able to take out solo now; Rorschach couldn't kill or capture the man if he couldn't reach him first.

He never stayed in the same place. Philadelphia hosted his main headquarters, but minor investigations into his schedules via newspapers and magazines had given Rorschach the clear picture that Veidt was quite the globetrotter, especially with the Middle East so politically charged.

Rorschach wasn't giving up; Veidt had plans for a New York visit that December. With a month to prepare, Rorschach knew that that would be his best moment to attempt an infiltration. He'd get to the blond-haired hero and expose his crimes. The presentation Veidt was planning would be the perfect chance to get out in the open. The world thought him dead. Veidt thought him dead. That moment—of watching Veidt realizing his perfect world had come to a crumbling halt—would be enough restitution for a month of idle planning.

However, as Rorschach quickly but stealthily made his way toward the origins of the first scream of the night, he was forced to recognize his _second_ problem.

This world was a strange world. Some things were expected. Veidt's pet energy products had totally changed the map of transportation and technology. Computers were stranger than ever; in fact, they were everywhere. There were too many new weapons, tools, and gadgets to deal with. Cell phones were everywhere. He couldn't fathom why they were so prevalent or why children were permitted to access them so freely. And this Internet? It was a liberal, unregulated self-exposing _mess_. Researching his targets might have been easier, but it was far too dangerous a tool to be given to ordinary _civilians_.

He was lost in a world too alien to be the future. If it weren't for the fact history correlated so well with what he knew as reality, Rorschach would have assumed Manhattan had dropped him onto another planet rather than the future.

At least the criminals were the same. There would always be the same vermin crawling and lurking in the underbelly of the city. There would always be a rapist, a mugger—always another soulless amoral waste, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. It seemed like as the rest of the world barreled forward like a train without a conductor, this dark part of it remained in a standstill, a frame from a horror show forever frozen on the worst mankind could create.

Rorschach could handle the monsters. This was what he knew. It was all he had left—Veidt had taken the rest. And until he had the great Ozymandias right where he wanted, he was content to be where he was now—with bloody fists and a trail of bodies in his wake.

Another scream broke the rhythm of another New York night and Rorschach answered its tragic request.

**000000000**

The night was gloriously young, but already there was trouble. In Jimmy's book that would probably be a bad thing, but Nite Hawk could barely repress his glee as he and Coyote ran through alleyways toward the location the cries for help originated from. The gliders on his back almost let him soar down the grunge-filled street, mildew and garbage the only aroma present that far into the city. This was the side of New York the media never saw. This was reality.

"Nite Hawk, Coyote, approaching potential assault in process—uh—three blocks from Fairview Avenue," he gasped into his microphone as they ran. Despite his recent workouts, it was difficult to speak and run at the same time.

"Affirmative, Nite Hawk, Coyote," Aud—Gestalt's stilted accent responded. "Gestalt, Blitzkrieg finishing up rounds by Eastchester. Re-group at midnight near Haffen Park."

"Roger. Nite Hawk, Coyote out."

He felt sort of bad for Dark Squall, who was recovering from a rather bad sprained ankle at home. She and Coyote had been on patrol when they attempted to intervene on a purse snatching. An unsteady trashcan had sent Dark Squall sprawling and earned her a "medical leave" under Gestalt's severe eye. Injuries were not to be treated lightly; if they pushed their limits too far, it could have deadly consequences. Dark Squall knew this well enough that she grumbled for only a little while before agreeing to take the next night off.

So now, he and Coyote were rushing toward the sounds of screaming they had heard a few blocks over. A woman, probably alone, from what they had heard. The screaming had stopped, but they moved quickly. There had been a seemingly shortage of assaults that week, so Nite Hawk grimly noted they were due for some unfortunate attacks. Within minutes, they were closing in on the source.

Nite Hawk leaped over a puddle— _watch for unwanted sounds, could alert opponents, avoid water and gravel—_ and readied his body for the fight waiting for them around the—

…corner…

Nite Hawk stopped running first, giving Coyote about three seconds to dash past him and then stop in surprise at Nite Hawk's sudden freeze. But before Coyote could turn to ask what was wrong, he too noticed the problem.

Lying out on the asphalt were two men; regulars in the area, Nite Hawk assumed. While beaten and clearly victims of some sort of attack, they were definitely not feminine enough to make the scream they had heard. However, a few yards away, was a woman's high heel shoe. That was the only indication of a woman being near that area.

Piecing together what little he could make of the situation, Nite Hawk realized that they had been late to the party. Coyote was a little less quick on the uptake and frowned down at the sight. He looked over at Nite Hawk, clearly unsure of what happened.

"You totally heard a chick scream for help, like a minute ago, right?" he asked, eyebrows forming a tense expression of confusion behind the goggles. "Or am I going insane?"

Nite Hawk nodded, feeling utterly confused himself. "Maybe they tried to mug a martial artist, or a cop…" he said, looking down at the beaten muggers. He swallowed hard. They looked like they had been taken out by a tank, he grimly noted, rather than a person. He realized he should probably call for paramedics; the one man seemed to be bleeding rather profusely.

With a small sigh, Nite Hawk took out his beacon. Experimenting in his father's shop had lead Jimmy to create some unexpectedly handy technology they could all use while on patrol. He had fused medical alert system and a GPS device, and with some simple satellite hacking, had an on-the-go police beacon they could send out for some clean up. It was too risky to use a cell phone to call the police directly, and as with situations like these, the victims or perpetrators of crimes needed emergency attention.

But just before he could press the red button to alert to authorities to locate the bleeding muggers, Coyote made a startled gasp, forcing Nite Hawk to look up in surprise at Coyote.

"Hey…hey, look at this." He saw the shorter man was pointing at something on the ground, next to the beaten muggers. The sound of his voice was not promising.

"What's wrong?" Nite Hawk asked, coming over to look.

Coyote swallowed, looking pale in the poor lighting. "M-man, look at this," he said unhelpfully, pointing directly between the one man's legs. "I-is that…what I think it is?"

Nite Hawk followed the pointing finger down to the asphalt, where, between the one man's knees, lay a piece of cardboard, perhaps from a pizza box. It was not litter, however, because on its darkest side was a marker-drawn symbol.

A symbol Nite Hawk had spent so many hours glancing over in Mask-related historical notes.

"Holy fuck," he hissed. He drew back and looked around, though he knew it was pointless now. Rorschach was gone. His symbol remained, brazenly showing the world his infamous Rorschach-test blotches. His calling card.

"That psycho did this? He took out the muggers?" Coyote shouted, now panicking.

Panicking was not a good thing to do, but Nite Hawk couldn't help but feel a bit helpless. "We missed him by like ten minutes, man!" he hissed. He couldn't stop gaping at the calling card in his hands.

Coyote stared at the muggers before quickly glancing to the sky, making the sign of the cross. " _Gracias a Dios_ ," he murmured, utterly serious.

"Nite Hawk to Gestalt, come in, Gestalt," Nite Hawk hurriedly spoke into his mic. He and Audrey had managed to attach one to each of their collars. "Holy _God_ , Gestalt, pick up—"

"What?" Gestalt snapped. She sounded irritated, probably at his lack of composure. "What's wrong, Nite Hawk?"

"We have an emergency." That sounded way too vague to be of any good use, he realized, but it was the truth. He had no idea what to do.

"Are any of you injured?" Gestalt asked immediately.

"Hell no, but we have a fucking problem four feet tall that goes by the name of a psych test," Coyote interrupted, not bothering to calm down for the mic. "An' if these half-dead muggers are to say anythin', he's on the fucking move _right now_."

Gestalt paused. It was a long pause. Nite Hawk, his heart racing, looked around—for what, he didn't know. A man in a mask? A fedora? Hell, a stray cat would make him scream at this point. For some reason, that piece of paper on the ground damn near made him run away.

But times like this asked for a leader. So he remained, waiting for his best friend's answer. Because Audrey always had answers.

After an agonizing moment, the microphone cackled. "We're assembling now," Gestalt said bluntly. Any emotion was lost to the accent. "Haffen Park. We'll be there in ten minutes."

"We'll be there in five," Nite Hawk said, already breaking out into a run.

**00000000000**

She knew the symbol. She knew it well. She had spent hours upon hours researching all the Masks. Rorschach's information was unfortunately more difficult to track down, but his calling cards had been some of the few things the man ever left for his chasers to get their hands on.

Yes, Gestalt knew Rorschach's calling cards; she knew them very, very well.

The four of them had assembled quickly, but far from quietly. Even without Tamila's strong voice, they were making a lot of noise trying to figure out exactly what Nite Hawk and Coyote had witnessed. They had intercepted the aftermath of an attempted mugging, but all they found as a clue to the person who saved the day was a piece of cardboard. On it, a crude imitation of a Rorschach inkblot test had been drawn. Gestalt knew without a doubt that it had been Rorschach himself who had drawn the symbol; no one else would have cared to know it.

"There were no other signs of him being there?" Blitzkrieg asked, being rational, but also surprisingly stubborn. He was acting strangely as of late; he was especially skittish when it came to discussing Rorschach.

"You mean _besides_ the two half-dead men lyin' in their own intestines?" Coyote asked mockingly. "Nah, not a thing, Blitz."

Blitzkrieg frowned. "What if it's an imitator?" he asked.

"Unlikely," Gestalt replied, arms crossed. She glanced down at the calling card held between her fingers. "I doubt that anyone is aware he has returned to New York. It's even less likely that someone would care enough to know what he looked like to be able to recognize him now."

"He did chase you and Ta—I mean, you and Dark Squall, all over the place the other day," Nite Hawk offered. "There's a chance an imitator could have seen him there."

Gestalt was not impressed. "But the chance of that happening is…?"

Nite Hawk shrugged and looked away.

"Rorschach went AWOL for two decades. We find the only sign of him alive, and suddenly, we find this," Gestalt continued. She held the cardboard out for them to look at again. "Until we actually catch him in the act, we can't assume much. But my instincts are telling me that if he's leaving cards, we can assume he's begun to go back to his old routines."

"He's been inactive for the last twenty years," Blitzkrieg said, still frowning. "Why has he suddenly started up again?"

Gestalt looked at him and then at the calling card. It was soggy from being litter on the ground before Rorschach—or whoever it had been—picked it up to use. Dark symbols of long-dead vigilante beamed up at her, daring her sanity to disagree with the facts presented before her. Even if someone was pretending…she knew for a fact Rorschach was alive. And she would bet her own mask that he was not about to slip back into retirement.

She was terrified, but…a part of her was also exhilarated by this turn of events. Rorschach was a clear example of how this life they had chosen for themselves could totally destroy their sanity. But he was a Mask, one of their own. He was a survivor of something…horrible.

— _ink covered faces, the snowy landscape of the south, Veidt's empty smiles, and fifteen million corpses that never existed long enough to mean anything—_

Somewhere beneath her dark hood and eye-mask, Audrey shivered.

"What has changed in the last few weeks that might have prompted him to suddenly get involved?" she finally asked, pushing past her own rattled nerves. She had to focus.

No one answered her at first. Gestalt waited, looking at each of them. Confusion and hesitation flickered on all of their exposed expressions. Looking to her left, she saw Nite Hawk watching her with a wary look. For a second, she thought she was looking at James Hollis again instead of Nite Hawk.

But after a moment, Nite Hawk raised his head, face set, expression now grim. "…Us," he said simply. The others stared at him, stunned.

Gestalt looked down at the calling card now lying in the palm of her hand. "Bingo."

The notion of Rorschach suddenly becoming active again because of their involvement in crime fighting was not impossible. It was still unnerving.

"What do we do now, then?" Coyote asked, shaken.

Standing silently, Gestalt looked back up at her companions. For a moment, Audrey threatened to break through her cover. She wanted to shake and tremble, too, at the sheer reality of their situation. They were sharing the streets with a true monster. They were gambling their lives every time they wore those masks, but now, things were far, far more dangerous.

Much like her alter ego, Gestalt shivered—but this time from anticipation.

"We continue as if nothing happened," she said, closing her fist around the card. She spoke bluntly, hoping to stir up the same indifference in her teammates. "Rorschach is doing what we are doing and that's cleaning up criminals. If we cross paths, ignore him. He won't be found unless he wants to, so walk away."

Coyote looked as if he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself. Nite Hawk nodded and Blitzkrieg looked down. Gestalt knew as well as they did that they were ready for whatever the streets threw at them. One extra obstacle to look out for would not hinder them or their mission.

But Rorschach was no ordinary man. They all knew they would have to tread carefully— _very_ carefully.

"Resume your patrol," Gestalt said, turning, hardening her heart to her own fears. "It's still early."

The others nodded and left, and Gestalt let the calling card fly away into the unforgiving night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rorschach hasn't commented on the kids because he hasn't really, ah, paid attention to the local news lately. He's been focusing mainly on Veidt. Also, please don't mind my random New York geography; I've suddenly gotten lazy with my research for coming up with post-Event modern day.
> 
> Next chapter features Rorschach underestimating Veidt's reach and the kids realizing that they just struck gold.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter twelve: in which Rorschach makes a near-deadly mistake and the Crimebusters make an even bigger one. Oh, and Veidt shows up again. Bastard.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

* * *

"Violence can only be concealed by a lie, and the lie can only be maintained by violence."

-Alexandr Solzhenitsyn

* * *

 

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

Well, to be sure, this was particularly more troubling than five children running around in hockey-masks.

He received notice of the second confirmed sighting and subsequent appropriated calling card three weeks after the still active "CBII" appeared. Veidt had been ready to dismiss this second vigilante as just another inspired spin-off and forget about it—

But this one was…different.

The inkblots were unmistakable. The stench accompanying the cardboard cutout was dead-on. Vedit had rarely partnered with anyone during their run in Crimebusters, but anyone of them would be a fool not to recognize _this_ particular calling card.

Someone was masquerading as Rorschach. Veidt didn't know whether to be insulted or to laugh. The black and white faced hero had probably suffered the worst feedback from the press and public. To think anyone would want to emulate _him_ , when there were far more appreciated masks to impersonate, was laughable. Veidt wasn't laughing, however. He could have tolerated someone mimicking him (wouldn't be the first time, actually), but…Rorschach?

That was not tolerable.

He told Bates to go to New York City almost immediately after his private investigators found the man in question and started to trail him. Another team had already been sent as a precaution; apparently the man put on a convincing impersonation of Rorschach, and so far, the media's attention had been carefully directed elsewhere.

Veidt could handle new masks. They weren't a threat. Neither was this man, really. But this wasn't about press now. This was an insult on the memory of an old friend. Even if this was all a joke, Veidt would see it ended _now_.

After all, it was the least he could do.

**00000**

_New York City, New York_

He should have seen this coming.

Tricks were for liars and thieves—and his enemy was definitely both of those things. Honorless, spineless cowards followed his lead, and while Rorschach would never bow to their underhanded moves, there were more of them than him. He had too many things to accomplish before he ever gave into death.

He had followed a cocaine dealer all the way from a populated slum to a vacant area of the city, which he remembered had once been a very busy factory area. The tall, but decaying buildings stood like monoliths of another age, before Veidt's influence swept over the city like a glistening white plague, where commerce still functioned under rich capitalism, not socialistic confinement. Rorschach had hoped the man would lead him back to any friends he might have had, or a buyer.

Rorschach was not disappointed when, following the man quietly through an abandoned steel factory, he discovered five men total. None of them seemed armed and were discussing rather loudly the beginnings of a drug exchange. It was the perfect exposition.

He should have noticed something odd about the men—how none of them fit the demography of the area, or how few had New York accents, or how they were all dressed in black. He was too focused on making the first strike. He moved up silently and struck out, as always, for the easiest breakdown.

But as soon as he raised his fist and brought it down to hit flesh, a hand was up, blocking the blow. Rorschach had the luxury of a few seconds of surprise and then he found himself at the receiving end of a gloved fist's strike.

Recovering instantly, Rorschach attempted to hit back and regain his ground, but something was off. Every strike he dished out was blocked. He found himself blocking blows form nearly all sides. He was used to gang fights, if his prey had allies. He had never had a problem sending them to the ground in agony. Even those children, for all of their combined skills, were no match, even in a group.

But this was different. This… was not a street gang. They were too uniform, too precise, too manicured. Perfect hits, perfect blocks—it reminded Rorschach of another fight, one cloaked in purple and gold. The perfect fighters.

The leads must have been planted weeks in advance—they had been expecting him. Rorschach knew that very few of his enemies from two decades earlier were still alive. Only one was still active, and the mere idea that his nemesis knew of his arrival to this strange time made his nerves silently burn. Was it possible Veidt really did know everything?

That didn't matter now. The fight was what mattered, and this was a fight Rorschach knew he could not risk losing.

Snarling, Rorschach threw himself into the fight. These were just men, who had never fought as masks. They were lackeys and mercenaries sent by a spineless hack.

They found like the god-prince that sent them, however. Rorschach felt blood ooze past his lips as another fist slammed into his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. Veidt had trained them well. He had turned them into _him_.

Gripping and twisting an arm that seemed to be armored under heavy black cloth, for the first time since Antarctica, Rorschach could not help think that he might not win this one—

That thought resonated across his mind as the world dissolved into white-hot lightening.

**00000**

It was supposed to be a simple drug bust. Markus had sworn the information he had gotten was good and they were going to find a drug deal between a huge supplier and several lower dealers go down in the empty lot behind a condemned iron works factory. It was supposed to be just like any other night, simple and easy.

It was not simple.

Gestalt, after all of them made their standard rounds, collected the members of her team and they headed straight for the location they had heard about. She knew the building and was reviewing the plans they had come up with prior to heading out that evening. It was the same plan they used several weeks previous: Coyote, Nite Hawk, and Dark Squall caused chaos and brought down stragglers, and those unlucky enough to flee in the only unblocked exit—the building—would meet a quick end with the immovable Blitzkrieg and quick Gestalt herself. Coyote went ahead to case the situation and Gestalt and Markus moved carefully towards the back of the building as Nite Hawk and Dark Squall approached the front.

"Waiting for Coyote to be in position. On my mark, assemble in marked locations," Nite Hawk instructed over the communications link. Gestalt nodded at him from across the black field, the street lamps casting eerie shadows over the abandoned lot.

There were indeed five men standing by two cars toward the rear of the factory. They were nervous and glancing around, which seemed normal. Gestalt thought it would be an easy strike and take out.

However, before Nite Hawk could even begin to alert the others Coyote was on the roof—someone else appeared.

Gestalt's entire body went cold from her position behind a half-decomposed vehicle on the edge of the lot. She thought she was hallucinating when she saw a small, but agile form dart from the building's exit—and then launch at the group of men. Blitzkrieg gasped and ducked down lower, mimicking Gestalt who was afraid of being exposed.

But there was no need to fear the men running their way prematurely. The new figure—who was hauntingly familiar in a way that made Gestalt want to run the other way—made easy work of the drug dealers, knocking them down without the least bit of hesitation. He did the work the five would have done together, and he did it alone, superbly.

 _Rorschach_ , Gestalt thought, a chill shaking her bones. They had come that close again to the rogue vigilante. She didn't want to imagine trying to break into his fight, or if he had broke into _theirs_. He was a wild dog—and she didn't think wild dogs liked to share their meals.

The fight seemed unfairly one-sided, for just a few minutes. Then, the entire world flipped upside down.

A flash of light broke the darkness, illuminating for just the briefest of moments Rorschach and his prey. A spine-chilling roar, either of pain or just bloodlust, shattered the silence. Gestalt gasped, the lightening streaking the air again and again, the roar repeating just as many times. Gestalt gripped the side of the car in fear.

Rorschach ripped away from the dealers, stumbling.

… _What?_

Gestalt ignored Blitzkrieg's sound of warning when she stood up more, her eyes trying to take in every detail of the fight. The light made it only temporarily brighter, but as it continued, she realized what the lights were. Electricity. Tasers. Rorschach made quick work of the first attacker, the audible crack of bone loud enough to be heard several yards away. But just as soon as Gestalt though the fight would change yet again—the night itself began to move.

At least a dozen men materialized from nowhere—from the darkness of the building, from the cars, from anywhere—and descended onto the fight. Gestalt felt her mouth go dry as she realized that everything was going horribly wrong.

"Reform group, reform group," she stuttered over the mic. She dove past the end of the car, ducking behind every bit of debris she could find, desperate not to attract attention. She found Nite Hawk and Dark Squall toward the front of the lot, both ogling the fight with the same amount of intensity as she.

"Are you… are you seeing this?" Nite Hawk gasped as they appeared behind the pile of metal and trash they had taken shelter behind.

Gestalt moved forward, her eyes wide under her hood. She was seeing it alright. It just seemed too unbelievable to be true. Every witness report, every story, every legend—Rorschach was always unstoppable. He was… Rorschach. Nothing could stop him. He wasn't human enough to be stopped by another man.

But… this was bad. Very, very bad.

There were too many now. She had been sure—oh so sure—ever since Rorschach had handed the Crimebusters' asses to them that nothing but the army could ever hope to take this man on, and from a distance. But there were too many. There were constant flashes of tasers and there didn't seem to be an end to the lines of thugs now, who were far too uniform in dress and skill to be anything but mercenaries.

These were not drug dealers.

She didn't need their names or their IDs to know who they were—or rather, who sent them.

"Veidt," she whispered, her voice a whisper, the sound enough to give herself chills.

 _Oh, my God_.

She didn't want to believe. She didn't want to see this—to know—that everything—everything—Rorschach had claimed in his journal—

There was no going back to know what had happened November 2nd.

But this was another sort of proof, one that surpassed the invisible presence of the Happiness Inquisition. This was proof of Veidt's own maliciousness. His golden image had been horribly cracked by the arrival of Rorschach.

Now, the image fell, piece by piece, in tiny shards into the pit of Audrey's heart.

"It's true… it's all true," Blitzkrieg said, sounding too far away for his normally solid self. He looked out at the fight, where Rorschach kept stumbling and for every arm he snapped or neck twisted, another would replace it.

Veidt didn't want the truth out, even if the truth was from a madman. Gestalt closed her eyes, sickened to the core.

This was all the proof Audrey needed now.

"We have to help him," she said stiffly, her chest encased in ice, her nerves on fire.

Dark Squall's head whirled around and she glared at their pseudo-leader in open shock. "Are you nuts? Those are _Veidt's_ people!" she snapped in a hurried whisper. She sounded frightened. "The Happiness Inquisition was one thing, but these guys _work_ for him!"

"They must know about the journal," commented Blitzkrieg. He sounded unusually cold now.

"Then they're going to kill him," said Gestalt. "We have to get him out of there."

"Why?" demanded Coyote over the intercom in her ears. "You're nuts, Aud—Gestalt! He just tried to kill us two weeks ago! Why should we save him?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," said Gestalt simply. She was set on this, even if she went in alone. She would die trying, but she wouldn't stand by, not for this.

Nite Hawk shifted uneasily next to her on the ground. "I agree with her," he said, though he sounded reluctant.

"You always do, you little kiss ass!" snapped Coyote angrily, the mic squeaking.

Gestalt made a hissing noise. "Shut up!" she replied, becoming just as angry. "None of you have to follow me, but Rorschach is our only connection to the old Crimebusters! He's invaluable!" And to the knowledge of what happened twenty years ago.

"If this is what old Crimebusters get in payment for their past help, no, uh uh, count me out," said Dark Squall, shaking her head at the uneven brawl in front of them. "They've left _us_ alone, but if they're targeting the _old_ ones, we shouldn't get involved."

"We can't just leave him to die!" Nite Hawk said adamantly. "That's wrong. He's a creep, but he's still a person!"

"Give me one good reason to actually believe that," snapped Coyote.

Gestalt opened her mouth to yell at the stubborn man, but a voice stopped her.

"He knows," said Blitzkrieg.

His voice, deep and strong, silenced them all. Gestalt looked over and met Blitzkrieg's eyes that were barely visible under his helmet. He looked at her, but looked at the others as well.

"He knows what happened twenty years ago," he continued, his words striking her heart with every syllable. "If he dies, the truth dies with him."

She wanted to know. She needed to know. The dreams…were vivid even without the final parts revealed, but maybe if she knew the truth, they'd go away. There would be no more painful what-ifs or terrible feelings in her gut when someone mentioned Adrian Viedt. There would be no more wondering if the world really did fall for the most diabolical trick in history.

She was just terrified to find out what the truth exactly _was_.

"He's right," said Dark Squall quietly. She looked at ground, appearing sick, but she spoke firmly. "I…don't want to know, but I know I have to." She looked up and stared Gestalt straight in the eyes, her own shining in the darkness. "We have to."

And that settled it for her. They knew it. She knew it. There was no doubting whether it was the right choice. She had never meant to put her friends or herself into such a dramatic situation. They could handle violence; they had been prepped for it. But this truth was terrifying, something beyond them all. They knew only a part of it, and understood that if they never heard the rest, they would never rest.

Gestalt reached up to the ear-mic and said quietly, "We flank them on the right. Take out the ones with weapons first. We grab Rorschach and get out. Wait for the retreat."

And that was all that was needed to be said. Gestalt felt sickly proud as her teammates wordlessly obeyed those orders, moving into position, getting ready for the fight of their lives.

The only thing they had on their side was surprise. They had been waiting for Rorschach, not the Crimebusters.

At least, that's what Gestalt told herself. It was the only thing that could get her to actually move her muscles and fly out onto the field.

Coyote began to fire into the crowd, the distraction. Rorschach had fallen—either beaten or overwhelmed by the tasing—but now, the dark clothed men began to fall. Gestalt and Dark Squall let Blitzkrieg go first, building speed, before he plowed into the armed crowd, taking down several men with his bulk alone. Dark Squall descended into the fight, baton whirling, and Gestalt lunged, not for the men, but for the man in the center.

It was not easy to get to Rorschach. A fist—far too fast, far too precise, found her stomach and Gestalt gasped for air as she was physically lifted from the ground and hurled. Another hand found her, yanking her back down, wrenching her arm behind her back.

They liked tasers, but so did Gestalt. The man holding her down shrieked in pain when Gestalt turned on the gloves Jimmy had so lovingly crafted, sending a stunning charge through the surface of the gloves. The man was flung away and Gestalt twirled, catching him across the face with her foot, relishing the sensation of flesh against her boot's heel. Eyes up immediately, Gestalt saw another man coming and prepared another strike.

It was like fighting the air itself, if the air had human-shaped extensions who were easily the highest level of black belts Gestalt had ever fought against. Hitting them was like punching concrete. They moved quicker and struck harder than anyone she had met on the streets. She was sure if it weren't for her own tasers, she would have been thrown to the ground like Rorschach much sooner. Every hit was too close, every strike too hard—they wouldn't last long, not like this. Their element of surprise was turning stale and now, they were beginning to be overwhelmed, just like Rorschach had. Dark Squall was using the baton almost as a baseball bat, smacking the tasers out of the grunts' hands, sending them flying into the darkness. Even still, Gestalt found herself getting too close to a man intent on using one of the boxes, at least until Coyote sniped the man from behind with another rubber bullet.

Waving in thanks, Gestalt found the center of the fighting once again, now that they had stirred up enough chaos. She found what she was looking for and the focus of the world funneled down to her and him.

Dodging another stray attack—and the counter strike Nite Hawk struck at the offender—Gestalt found herself reaching for Rorschach, who had tried to stand, but had fallen back down.

There was no time to waste.

"GET UP!" she shouted, gripping the worn fabric, yanking the small man so hard, he almost flew to his feet. He was far too limp for such an intimidating man. "Get up, get up, _get the fuck up_!"

Rorschach said nothing, but a gloved hand whipped up and latched onto her arm holding him up so tightly, Gestalt almost dropped him. But there was no time for weakness and the adrenaline swept away the pain. She began to run, half-dragging the vigilante, before, thankfully, Blitzkrieg appeared at her side, grabbed Rorschach for her, hauling him with far more success. He was practically lifting the smaller masked man off the ground; Rorschach didn't seem to be able to move his legs that well now.

Gestalt picked out the remaining members—Nite Hawk was ducking two more attacks, Dark Squall was breaking a man's nose in, Coyote had brought out his heavier artillery and was actually drawing blood from his sniper position—and knew it was time to leave.

"Fall back, all members fall back, recon at Site B, do not stop," she shouted into the mic, dashing past Rorschach and Blitzkrieg. They had to split up, fast, and they did not have enough space to do so properly. They had to try. "Maximize distance, max out distance, go, go, go, go—!"

There were no shouts for assistance from the other three, so she assumed they dropped the baggage they were facing. Blitzkrieg and Rorschach disappeared out of view, turning down the other side of the street. Gestalt felt her muscles scream in agony as she pounded the asphalt, aiming for the darkest and smallest alleyways she could find in the belly of New York. There was no telling what was going to happen next; they could only run.

"All members en route," she heard a shaky, but alive Nite Hawk report, his voice the sweetest sound Audrey could have asked for.

She did not reply. She focused her eyes on the end of another street, and begged the shadows to guide them to safety.

**00000**

_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_

"Status, Mr. Bateman."

"Well, Adrian, it's, ah, a little different than what we were thinking."

Veidt was not particularly fond of plans changing or information being found out to be different than what he was expecting. "Do explain, Charles."

He heard Charles sigh over the secure phone line. "I got here late," he began, sounding harassed. "I didn't get to see the show myself, but six of my guys are out, three are dead. The rest are pretty beat up."

"You've overseen their training yourself, Mr. Bateman," Veidt said, frowning now. He sat forward, eyes piercing the wood grain on the back of his office door. "You assured me that they are all elites in their field."

"They, ah, are, Adrian."

Alone except for the night security, Veidt still felt exposed having this conversation. He felt obligated to find out exactly who was running around causing these stirs, but he was not expecting such a problem to arise. Bateman's unit was the best security force in the world, some trained by Veidt himself back in his younger years. While he generally had very little use for the unit, Veidt knew that very few people could ever meet those men in combat and have a chance at winning. Bateman himself was Veidt's heir when it came to his fighting skills. There was no way someone could have held their own, not for long, against this team.

But if Bateman's assessment was correct, someone _could_.

"What does this mean, Charles?" he asked calmly, staring out at the skyline, the lights of the city shooting to the heavens, leaving little room for stars.

He heard shuffling, the sounds of cars. "…One of the ones who had been knocked out, woke up raving. He's claiming that it was the real thing. The real guy," Bateman replied, sounding on edge. He was apparently in a car now, driving back to Philadelphia. "The target is gone, but several are claiming similar suspicions." He paused. "We may be dealing with the real Rorschach, sir."

Veidt didn't even blink. "Impossible."

"No one knows where he went, boss," Charles replied, almost reluctantly.

 _He_ , being Rorschach. The public knew little about the fates of the various masks. No one really cared about Rorschach, but there had been some notice over the years. He was dead to the world and Veidt knew it as a fact that the man was dead.

"He's dead, Mr. Bateman. Believe me." Veidt held back a sigh, turning back in his seat. He traced absently on the finished desktop. "I can't imagine an enthusiast of his magnitude would go quiet for twenty-years and then reappear like a ghost. The Rorschach I know would never have just disappeared."

He never would have been this quiet, either. The New Frontiersman had made a short stint related to Rorschach, but Veidt had been careful to buy the paper off. Rumors would only shake the foundations of an already weakened world peace. But that had been the last and only ripple. Rorschach had vanished, because he was _dead_. Manhattan wouldn't miss.

"I'm just repeating what I've heard, sir," Bateman replied, a shrug in his voice. "But to be honest? If a single guy could cause this much havoc to my men—they'd have to be beyond tough, sir. I'd think even _you_ would have problems with handling the whole group alone." He paused. "Though, I just remembered. Several men reported that another group appeared and got the target out. They weren't particularly affective, but they were fast. And they wore masks."

Veidt smiled faintly. "Our CB-II friends," he said. Now, that made more sense.

"It would appear, sir," Bateman replied. "Perhaps if we hone in on these new masks, we can find this imitator, whoever he is."

An intelligent and wise suggestion. Veidt was tempted to agree with it, wanting to know exactly what was going on in the streets of New York—

But something in his gut told him, in the faintest of ways, to disagree.

Perhaps it was the apprehension that it wasn't Rorschach and just a joke—the revived old emotions would be too much. Perhaps it was the concern that it was Rorschach—because Veidt honestly wouldn't know what that meant.

"Follow them. Don't approach unless I give you the word," he replied after a moment. He leaned backwards in his chair, glancing out the window into the city. "They're just rabble-rousers, all the same. If this Rorschach imitator is indeed in alliance with these children, perhaps this is all just as unimportant as we had first thought."

Perhaps there was a need to get involved with CB-II. Perhaps. For now, Veidt had other concerns, far more pressing than irreverent children.

"Yes, sir," Bateman said.

"Keep me informed, Mr. Bateman, if you would."

"But of course."

The click of the phone connection ending left Veidt in disturbed silence.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter thirteen: in which the kids attempt to speak "Rorschach" and Laurie is a mom. Sort of.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

* * *

"We don't accomplish anything in this world alone ... and whatever happens is the result of the whole tapestry of one's life and all the weavings of individual threads from one to another that creates something."

– Sandra Day O'Conner

* * *

Gestalt was pretty certain that they were either absolutely insane—or the luckiest people in New York, no, the entire goddamn planet.

Site-B was a temporary safe house they had plotted early on into their planning for going to the streets. She had tried to think of everything and anything that could go wrong, including running into a mass of cops or a gang they just couldn't beat. They needed a place to go where they would regroup and repair the damages they had taken, either emotionally or physically. Markus had found a condemned warehouse that was crummy, rusty and surrounded by more condemned buildings in one of the worst areas in Manhattan—it was perfect.

Gestalt had absolutely no idea what condition she'd find her teammates in, however, as she finally got herself to Site-B. Only Dark Squall was there, considering the wide and confusing routes they had taken to waylay any followers. Gestalt had slipped into the sewers for a block or two just for that reason. The two women waited impatiently for the others to arrive. Coyote and Nite Hawk wound up meeting halfway there anyway and showed up, beaten and terribly out of breath, but alive.

"Any serious injuries?" Gestalt asked, distracting herself from the panic of not knowing where Blitzkrieg and Rorschach were. If that midget hurt Markus…

"I definitely think we're outclassed," Dark Squall replied, arms wrapped tightly around herself. They were sitting in the back of the building, behind a large old tank, shivering from adrenaline and sheer terror. "Fuckers broken my baton."

"Not dead," Coyote offered, looking incredibly worn.

Nite Hawk just shook his head, leaning entirely against the tank, breathing horrendously. He shook his head at her concern, so she gave him space. He wasn't always the most fit out of their group, but this was no time to berate any of them for a fault. She was just grateful they were still alive…

Gestalt waited another ten minutes before she started to consider using the mic to see where Blitzkrieg was. It wouldn't do much good if he was dead or dying, she had to concede, but maybe they were just stuck somewhere, or just slowed by circumstance…

"Wh… _there_!" Dark Squall shouted, pointing out at the front of the warehouse. Gestalt spun around and saw the top of a Viking helmet—and then two hobbling, utterly pathetic looking costumed men make their way toward the group.

"Oh, thank God," Gestalt breathed. She strode forward, heart racing.

For the most part, Blitzkrieg looked pretty intact. His face was covered with blood, but from what she could tell in the dim lighting of glow sticks they had brought, it seemed to originate from a minor laceration to the forehead. He was limping, but smiled at her when he got closer. She smiled back, the fears and worries of a leader superseded by the joy of seeing a friend alive and well.

And then… she saw Rorschach. He was a mess. Coat torn, covered in blood (though most of it probably wasn't his) and grime, lame walk—he was leaning dangerously to the side when Blitzkrieg finally backed off, removing his hand from the other man's shoulder as if he were a wild animal. Then again, that was an apt description.

"We clear?" Blitzkrieg asked, glancing around.

"Affirmative." Gestalt looked at Rorschach, hesitating. She didn't know how to speak to him. He was either staring back at her or he had fallen unconscious standing up, he was so still. The inkblots barely moved. "Are you alright, Rorschach?"

He didn't flinch, but Gestalt had a feeling her question caught him off guard. "Alive," he replied gruffly.

Gestalt nodded. "Good."

She meant to ask the others if they thought it was alright to try to split up. They had a system to follow, and even if Rorschach was there, it wouldn't be that difficult to adjust their plans. They could get out of this alive, still, and she was intent on making sure everyone got home safely. Whatever came tomorrow or next week… well, they'd have to play it very, very carefully from then on.

She wasn't expecting to see motion behind her. Gestalt spun around and saw Rorschach started to stumble away, clearing having had enough to the group even for the few minutes he had been forced to stand there, probably due to his own injuries. Gestalt gasped, alarmed.

"Wait!" she cried, holding a hand out. Rorschach stilled, probably watching her the extended hand like it was some sort of weapon. Gestalt sighed, frustrated. "Don't go yet. We can help you get home, wherever that is."

"Don't need you," the older vigilante grunted, stepping back. He sounded disgusted.

"We just saved your life!" she exclaimed, torn between feeling shocked or insulted. It was difficult to get upset with a man she knew, beat up or no, could kill her in seconds.

Rorschach tensed. "Not saved," he spat. He could barely stand, but he still had the strength to be an asshole. Gestalt seethed, prepared to just drop it.

Unfortunately, her teammates were less patient. "Oh, really? You wanna go back there?" Coyote challenged. He took a step closer to the shorter man, radiating anger. "I can drag your sorry ass back there for those psychos to pick up if you want!"

"Coyote!" Gestalt snapped, turning to him. She caught herself and took a steadying breath. They needed to calm down. "Please, stop it."

Coyote scowled, but he back off, turning away in his own frustration. Nite Hawk, looking far better now, caught Gestalt's eye from across the room. They stared at each other and Gestalt knew the young man was feeling the same amount of stress as she was.

How did things go so wrong, so quickly?

"We need to get back, de-mask, and lay low for at least a week," she said, shivering. She hated the aftermath of an adrenaline surge. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. They needed precise action now. "Go out in teams of two. Nite Hawk and Coyote, Blitzkrieg and Dark Squall, me and— _Rorschach_!"

She had turned around just in time to see the masked vigilante stumbled towards the front of the warehouse, obviously aiming to get outside. Gestalt rushed forward after him, abruptly angry.

"Are you insane? You can't even walk!" she snapped, reaching for him.

In hindsight, that was the second worst thing to do to the man, the first being touching his face. Gestalt barely managed to duck a gloved fist and yank her hand away from it, knowing if it were caught up in his grasp, he would have broken it instantly. Stumbling away, Gestalt drew back in a defensive pose. Rorschach stood still, facing her, a menacingly aggressive aura around him now.

"Back off," he snarled.

Fear mixed with anger and exhaustion. "I'm trying to help you," she shot back. They needed him alive, not wandering the streets like a drunkard. He couldn't even walk a straight line, but then again, he was recovering rather quickly.

Rorschach clenched a fist. "Don't need help."

Shaking her head, Gestalt glanced at her friends, who had moved up closer in case she needed the help, and then back at Rorschach. "Those were Veidt's people, weren't they?" she asked. He said nothing, but Gestalt hissed in frustration. "Rorschach, damn it! Did you bring them here on purpose? Did you _try_ to lure them in?"

Those were unneeded accusations, but to her dismay, Rorschach said nothing to his defense. She stared at him, realizing that despite his strength and overall value as a witness to the Event—

He knew absolutely _nothing_ of how this world of theirs worked, not anymore.

Gestalt glared. "You fucking _idiot_." Rorschach growled loudly, but Gestalt kept going, her anger building. "You don't go pissing off the Happiness Inquisition—I mean, Veidt, whoever!" she sputtered. "They don't play games. They were trying to kill you."

Rorschach tilted his head, challenging. "Didn't. All that matters."

Moving closer, Gestalt continued, "They're going to come back. After us now, after we helped you." She heard the others shift behind her and guilt suddenly plagued her. She hoped that she was just exaggerating; they would not survive an attack on their own team.

"Willing decision," Rorschach said, loathing permeating his voice. Gestalt drew back in anger.

"I don't know _where_ you've been in the last two decades," she began, shaking her head, "or why you suddenly showed up after abandoning this city for all that time—!"

Rorschach's own anger interrupted her briefly. " _Never abandoned_!" he roared, the first time she had ever seen him truly riled by a comment from one of them.

"—but if you're going to cut into the scene now, you had better learn the rules, the _new_ rules, fast!" she said, continuing without stopping. "This is beyond just the cops trying to stop the masks from coming back. Obviously, Veidt is out for blood, yours." She hesitating, remembering something they had discovered days before. "We found your calling card."

Nite Hawk made a sound of surprise, clearly getting what she meant by that. "That's probably how they found out you were back," he said, stunned.

Rorschach didn't seem terribly interested. "Hn." He moved away again and Gestalt let him, glaring into his departing form.

"If you keep leaving them, they'll find you, Rorschach," she said gravely, clenching her hands into fists at her side. She didn't know if that was a warning or a plea.

For a man with a faceless mask, Rorschach knew how to send a glare as he peered over his shoulder at her, posture tense and poised, even though the attack earlier had sent him sprawling only an hour ago. "Good," he bit out. And then he turned and walked back into the darkness, away from them.

Left standing there, Gestalt watched him leave until he disappeared from sight. Pain, exhaustion, fear and anger—it all swirled around her head like a vortex, leaching her strength away until all that was left was a teenager in a suit of cloth and leather.

"Christ…" she heard Markus mutter. Turning, Gestalt saw the other four sitting or standing there, watching her, waiting for some sort of command or answer or guidance.

She was a horrible leader, not knowing what to say. Closing her eyes, Gestalt tried to steady herself. They needed her to be strong just as she needed them to be stronger. Opening them, she looked at her friends each in their weary pairs of eyes—

"Let's go home."

**0000**

Everything hurt. Nite Hawk had crawled his way into his bedroom window from the fire escape literally on his hands and knees. He wasn't even sure he actually could find the strength to get a shower, so he settled for just collapsing on his bed, mask off, but everything else would just have to stay. Three hours later, he woke up to his alarm clock.

Time for school.

With a groan, Nite Hawk got up and realized he had to put aside the aches that had become more pronounced after he had been lying still for so long, because the day was not going to stop for James Hollis.

A shower proved to be hell and heaven all at the same time, washing away dried blood and dirt, stinging wounds and soothing the ache of muscles that had been thoroughly abused in the fight or in the following escape through the city.

"Shit…" he muttered, glancing into the mirror, grimacing. He brought up his hand and traced the outline of a black eye that was slowly manifesting on his face. It spread out into another long bruise along the cheek that he remembered received a rather vicious punch. A scarf or hat would not cover this up.

Getting through the day at school would be easier with it than escaping his house. His father had left for work, but his mother was still busying around downstairs. This was her late morning. Jimmy scurried across the hallway

As he hobbled around his room like an old man, Jimmy pondered exactly what they were going to do next. Audrey had seemed very disturbed by the whole thing, but he didn't know if she would persue Rorschach, or just let it drop. The others seemed a bit more interested in saving their own asses and Jimmy could relate. They had no way of knowing if they had just marked their own heads by helping Rorschach escape alive; they weren't ready for a full-scale assault by Veidt. They would all die and for… what? A crazy vigilante zombie? Pulling on a pair of jeans numbly, Jimmy didn't know whether to laugh or cry—

There was a creak at the top of the stairs and then:

"Jimmy, are you awake yet…?"

Jimmy gasped, horrified. "Wh— _don't come in_!" he squeaked, scrambling to grab a T-shirt as well. He got halfway to his dresser, but it was too late.

Laurie stopped dead in his doorway, the door swinging open with traitorous ease. The woman gaped at her black-and-blue-from-the-waist-up son, dropping a stack of folded laundry. " _Oh_! James! What on _Earth_ happened to _you_? !"

"Mom, I…!" Jimmy's mind floundered. He hadn't seen his parents yesterday afternoon; he had gone 'straight to Markus's house' so… "A fight…! I… I got into a fight yesterday!"

Not exactly a solid execution of a lie, but Laurie seemed intent on staring at his injuries than anything else. She poked and prodded, having him spin so she could see his back. Jimmy grimaced; bruises in the shapes of boots were difficult not to diagnose.

"Wh—a fight? With who? !" Laurie sputtered, a mixture of incredulousness and worry in her voice.

"Some… some kids at school," he replied lamely, trying to think faster. Those were believable scenarios, sort of. He just had to calm down and flesh them out.

Laurie just looked at him and then seemed to catalogue his injuries. He was sure nothing was broken, but one side of his chest looked like someone had used it as a trampoline (it was more like one of those security guys used him as a hacky-sack). His face was black-and-blue on the one side, and his fists were bruised and cut to hell and back. He looked like he had gotten into a fight, mostly because he had… but Jimmy felt the building tension in his mother before he even turned around to face her again.

He waited for something. Laurie just stared at him for a while longer, eyes scrutinizing his face more than anything. Slowly, time slipped by and Jimmy wondered if he should just throw himself out the window just to escape the incredible awkwardness. Laurie slowly drew back after awhile and just _stared_ at him.

"James?" she began, tense.

He almost regretted looking back up at her to answer. "Yes?" He brace himself for questions—lots of them. He could lie, but not forever.

Laurie started to speak, faltering slightly. "Jimmy…" she began. She looked him right in the eye, her own pair narrowed slightly. "Did you tell anyone?"

Jimmy stared back at her, brain momentarily freezing.

"Uh… what?" he managed to say. Tell anyone? Like the cops? He doubted that's what she meant, but the image of trying to tell the truth to the cops was almost comically terrifying. They'd be dead by sundown, with Veidt's network of cops alive and well in the Happiness Inquisition. The last thing any of them wanted was to alert the authorities of anything.

Something in Laurie's eyes affirmed that it wasn't the cops she was talking about. "Your teacher? Your principal?" she asked suddenly, shocking her son.

Jimmy, scrambling for traction, sputtered. "Wh-what?" he asked. _Right, I was in a fight._ " _No_ … why? !" His voice squeaked treacherously, but he was trying to get past the idea if why his mother would want him to squeal. She was always against the idea of relying on someone to clean up the messes you make for yourself. Why would she even—?

"If someone is attacking you at school," Laurie continued, her voice heavy, "you should at least let those in authority know about it."

Suddenly… things clicked. James stared down at his mother, who was beginning to grow shorter and shorter as Jimmy finished growing, at first surprised… and then something colder squirmed in the pit of his stomach.

Oh.

"…Oh… um…" he tried to start, not sure how to reply. She thought he had been _bullied_?

He almost laughed, bitterly, at the mere idea.

Unfortunately, his mother didn't grant him the luxury of having defended himself. "If you had kept those defense classes, maybe you wouldn't have run into trouble." Laurie sighed; a frustrated, exasperated tone. "If you're not going to fight back, you may as well let your teachers know, okay? I won't tell them for you. You have to stand up for yourself."

Staring at her silently, Jimmy wondered for just a moment that maybe, he should have corrected her. Said the truth—or a lie that was less depreciating. That he had fought back, that he had stood up for himself, and that's what had gotten him into this sorry state—

But then… Jimmy realized exactly what had just happened. His mother had seen the bruises, the blood and thought… thought he had been bullied. Beat up. Picked on. And lost.

As if winning wasn't even an option for her sorry son.

Laurie glanced at him, noticing his blank face. "What, Jimmy?" she asked, frowning slightly out of confusion than anything else.

Jimmy stared at her, heart shuddering. "…Sorry." _For disappointing you. For making you ashamed that your son wasn't as strong, wasn't as powerful as you—_

Eyes softening just slightly, Laurie nodded. "Get cleaned up and I won't tell your dad," she said, which was almost relieving. Daniel never liked fighting, though now Jimmy really couldn't blame him. Laurie pursed her lips before sighing, almost as if giving up on something. "You just… you just have to stick up for yourself, Jimmy. Don't let people beat you down."

He almost wanted to tell her the truth—not to garner sympathy, or to just shrug of the viel of lies both of them had built up around each other and their secrets. No, he wanted to tell her, to prove to her, that she was wrong. He was doing everything but letting others beat him down. He might have lost fights, and he might never be as strong as his friends or especially not their newfound enemies—

But Jimmy wasn't going to go down anywhere without a fight. Laurie would never see that.

"I won't," he said instead, smiling reassuringly, even though the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry about it."

Laurie _would_ worry about it; he could see it in her eyes as she gave him some space. As soon as she closed the door, Jimmy sat down onto the bed, both exhausted and wound up. He stared down at his scabbing hands, remembering, blow for blow, what had caused the damages. His mother, unless he told her and showed her, would never believe the things he actually did with those fists. How he fought for people. How he… fought at all.

The first time his mother had tried to teach him self-defense, she had taken him to a basic karate class for little kids. He excelled at the basics, but once it rose to the level of attacking other students—he couldn't do it. Not because he was afraid of getting hurt, but because he didn't want to hurt anyone. It didn't seem right. He quit.

His mother got mad, but his father told her to back off, to give Jimmy space. He still remembered the sorry and frustrated look Laurie had given her son, as if she wanted something better from him, for him… just a better son who could keep up with her morals, her strength, her overall _perfection_.

Jimmy was not perfect. He never would be. A perfect son wouldn't make his mother think immediately at the sight of his bruised form that he was the weakling to get beat up in school. A perfect son wouldn't have to be dodging questions or asking the ones Laurie and Dan both couldn't answer, only the ones Sam and Sandra Hollis could.

"James, you're going to be late!" Laurie called form downstairs, the perfect mother—the perfect hero.

Jimmy stared at his hands, the hands of James Hollis, not that of Nite Hawk or a member of Crimebusters II. He was just a boy and he would have to be a boy for as long as was necessary for the public to believe.

Then again… his cover was flawless. In his imperfect image, he had the perfect alibi, the perfect alter-ego. His mother would never suspect he could be a hero; neither would the world. Jimmy smiled quietly to himself.

At least that was perfect.

"Coming."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Rorschach decides to do something new. CBII is highly impressed.


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rorschach learns to make friends. Or at least gets a really good idea.
> 
> While the reasoning behind Rorschach's actions may be a bit unsettling for some of you (I hope not, but I respect your opinions!), we finally get to see a good reason for why Jon may or may not have sent Rorschach to this time period. As in, we see a good reason for why it's twenty years later specifically, plus a cause for why the new Crimebusters are important at all. :D
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

 

* * *

"We cannot always build the future for our youth, but we can build our youth for the future."  
-Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 - 1945)

* * *

They found their next big case two weeks later. It was a normal one—one with drug dealers. Markus' informants gave them another trail back to a small time dealing boss. They could get to the source of the drugs through the smaller thugs in the community, but Gestalt was not about to turn down the chance to clean up a little mess when they found it. Besides, after a week of waiting in fear of a repeat assault from Vedit's people, a little drug bust was therapeutic.

It had started smooth, but the dealers decided to give them a chase, trying to flee the inevitable. With the roofs too close together for a good sniping position, Coyote had joined them on the street and it became a brawl. Gestalt didn't mind a good street fight, as it kept them sharp, but they couldn't afford to make much noise. She tried to keep her hits precise, aiming for the throat and chest to silence any screams. While her team worked generally in careful silence, the average criminal seemed to like screaming like an animal.

"End this in five," she hissed through her mic, not bothering to slow down for a response from anyone. They were almost done. They could leave the men for the cops, along with their haul. Destroying the drugs would remove the evidence, so they learned to give the NYPD the evidence they needed to really nail the crooks in court.

Fighting was chaos. Bloody chaos. It was nothing like her father's gyms or the smooth and transitional rhythm of competitions. Gestalt had been trained to fight for a game, so when she started fighting for actual lives, hers included, it was a bit shocking. It wasn't now, of course. It was a part of her mind now, her soul. Blood was like rain—a natural, infrequent occurrence, granted that it was never her own.

A lucky fist got her by the jaw, but only barely. Gestalt stumbled backwards, giving herself room. That was the key to lure her opponents into her own comfort zone, where she would reflect back with her own momentum. The narrow alley didn't give them much room, but she didn't need an arena. She anticipated and blocked another swipe before raising her own fist.

Gestalt punched the man away from her, sneering. He smelt like liquor and a sex den. She looked up and saw another thug headed toward her with a chain. She began to anticipate having to duck when suddenly—

A trashcan came flying out of nowhere and nailed the thug in the back. He stumbled forward, cursing. Gestalt, without question, brought her foot down to the back of the guy's neck. He let out a strangled yell, but when Gestalt moved, she quickly kicked him in the head, ending the situation. She looked back, ready to yell "thanks" to one of her friends when suddenly…

Gestalt stopped and stared. The fight kept going; she heard grunts and curses and breaking bones. But she kept staring straight ahead at the lone figure walking toward her—the fight—with such a sure, steady walk that she thought she was dreaming.

Rorschach walked past her without so much a word, focused totally on the fight. Gestalt stiffly turned, watching him beneath her hood with wide eyes. She watched him punch a stray thug and the said-thug dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks.

…Did that just happen?

Gestalt tried to focus her eyes after the man as he tore into the lines of the enemies, who were now becoming the outnumbered. Rorschach… was really there? Fighting? For them?

Part of her mind stumbled and didn't quite want to get back up again.

"On your left, Blitzkrig!" Dark Squall shouted, breaking an arm with skilled precision. She turned around down the alleyway. "Hey, Gestalt, where—?"

Dark Squall stopped short, her face that was visible contorting into the same shock Gestalt knew she was wearing as well, as she watched Rorschach approach, tearing down another thug. It was almost hypnotic watching him move. He moved like a small, individualized tornado. His mere presence was enough to change the mood of the entire scene. Gestalt felt as though she had become a spectator to their own fight.

It didn't take long for Rorschach and the others, who were just as shocked but able to finish off their opponents before standing back in awe, to finish the fight. Gestalt was pretty sure most of the unfortunate targets Rorschach attacked were probably bleeding internally or comatose, so they'd have to alert the medical authorities.

Almost without any warning, the violence stopped and Gestalt managed to breathe again. Rorschach didn't stop or drop a calling card this time. He just walked past the carnage he had helped cause and didn't give any of them the courtesy of recognition. Coyote looked torn between being angry and being scared. Gestalt could sympathize.

When Rorschach walked past her, Gestalt thought about stopping him, but didn't think it safe to bring his attention to her or anyone else. Perhaps they could all leave without getting their own asses handed to them again—

Rorschach turned, and with his non-existent eyes, pinned her in place.

"Going?" he asked, his voice enough to shake mountains, tilting his head back toward the exit of the alleyway.

Gestalt watched him before silently nodding, _Yes_.

**0000**

Jimmy wasn't going to lie to himself; this was probably the worst idea they had ever had, and that included the idea of dressing up like vigilantes to start with. Audrey had looked at all of them through the mask of Gestalt, silently letting them know they didn't have to follow her, as she turned to follow Rorschach out of their most recent strike down on crime. There was no way on Earth Jimmy was going to let Audrey go off alone with the madman, so he followed. The others did too, probably out of the same loyalty, but also curiosity.

Anything could happen. He told himself that as they ran after Rorschach, who picked up his pace after a certain point. The short man led them through some of the grimiest areas of the neighborhood, but it was nothing they hadn't seen before.

Twenty minutes later, they broke into what seemed like an empty apartment complex. The ground level lobby was dark, damp and utterly eviscerated. He took the time to lean against a moldy support beam, catching his breath as he gazed out at the others. Audrey was poised nearest to Rorschach, who never seemed to lose his breath. Jimmy wondered absently if he even breathed at all.

"Why'd you help us?" Audrey demanded, getting straight to the point, her frustration and wary fear both well-deserved. She didn't even try to use her Mask voice.

As expected, Rorschach wasn't impressed or intimidated. "Got there first," he replied.

"What? No you didn't—oh." Audrey hesitated, glancing at her friends, before looking back at him. "You mean us."

" _Jesus_ , speak English," Tamila snarled. Cesar snorted in agreement.

Rorschach stared at her. Jimmy shuddered, because he could just tell Rorschach was looking at them with real eyes under that mask, even as it swirled wildly before becoming solid shapes of black on white. He looked inhuman through the help of Jimmy's night vision goggles.

"Thank you."

All of them looked up at Markus, who had surprised them by speaking. He nodded his head at the shorter vigilante, who had turned to face him calmly. "You didn't have to," Markus continued. "And didn't need to. But thanks."

Rorschach said nothing. Audrey took a deep breath, steadying herself visibly.

"You sought us out," she accused calmly. It could have been a question.

"Was in neighborhood," was the short, unemotional response. Jimmy blinked in surprise. Were they supposed to take that as a serious answer or sarcasm? Did he even know sarcasm?

"Bullshit," Audrey shot back immediately, suddenly amping the tension in the room with that word alone. She gave him an appraising stare. "You cleaned up well. Those guys beat the shit out of you."

Rorschach's shoulders were more drawn back, but he didn't seem too irritated. "Hn."

Markus shifted, his bulky frame catching most of their eyes. "Why are you here?" he asked, voicing the confusion and fear Jimmy was certain all of them except Rorschach shared.

The man in front of them—possibly rabid, insane or both—just stared at him and then Audrey. Like he was seeing through them or nothing at all. Like there wasn't actually a person behind the mask. Jimmy shivered and wiped a trail of sweat from his brow under his hood.

"Rorschach," Audrey began again, now very tense. "…What do you want?"

Rorschach just stood there and Jimmy could tell he was breathing now, slow, deep breaths. The inkblots swirled once and then went back to an almost stand-by position, where the dark spots moved, but held a general formation. The scientist in Jimmy suddenly demanded to know exactly what the mask was made of, but those kinds of questions could wait for a less violence-infused moment.

"Weak," Rorschach said abruptly. He tilted his head higher, as if directing his words to all of them now. "Too weak."

That was the kind of comment that would have pissed all of them off. They trained their asses off to get where they were. They weren't weak. However, Jimmy's ego was kindly reminded by his logic, this was Rorschach. If he thought they were weak, well, they most likely were.

Even Cesar kept his mouth shut. Surprisingly, it wasn't him to lash out. Well, lashing out was a strong term. In hindsight, Jimmy realized Audrey's aggression was far more planned than it first appeared.

Their leader took two steps forward, lifting her head higher so Rorschach could see her eyes peering out from under her dark costume. "Then _show us_ how to be better," she challenged, her voice shocking Jimmy to the core. He gasped and stared at her in fear. Tamila inhaled a hissing breath of alarm and Markus shot her a warning look—but it was too late.

It was like a switch was flipped. Rorschach drew back completely and turned as if to charge out the exit. Whatever plan he had had walking in there, it was abandoned. Jimmy stood back and watched him march past Markus, having no intention to intervene with the man's leaving. Even though they all had nagging questions, he could live without the psychopath staring them down like fresh meat.

But of course, that wasn't enough for Audrey. After that night, Jimmy was going to reacquaint her wit the notion of _self-preservation_.

"Wait!" she cried, stepping forward, arm reaching out to stop Rorschach, but not following him further then five steps.

Out of instinct, Rorschach stopped. He slowly turned to face the girl. His pause served as an non-audible 'what?'. Audrey fidgeted, looking ridiculously small even in her blood-coated costume, but stood in front of the masked man bravely.

"Please," she begged, her hands tightly wrapped around each other. Jimmy was stunned by her begging. "Please stay. Help us train for this."

Train? With _Rorschach_? Jimmy swallowed, his throat dry. That had Bad Idea written _all_ over it. It was insane. Suicidal and detrimental. They didn't need him. They needed sanity and responsibility when they headed to the streets. Sure, he was faster and stronger, but they didn't _need_ him—

Rorschach looked at her, his masked face revealing nothing. "No," he said, short and simple.

Audrey's shoulders went up and Jimmy knew she wasn't going to back off now. "Why not?" she demanded.

"No need for assistance."

Without any warning, the last person Jimmy expected to support this spoke up. "You're the last of the Crimebusters," Cesar said, moving closer. He yanked his hat off, his eyes shining through the mostly-dark lobby. "We're trying to follow in you guys' footsteps as costumed heroes. Come on. Don't you at least wanna see your legacy live on?"

Tamila snorted. "Not to mention we saved your ass not that long ago," she added, placing a hand on her hip. "You owe us."

What the _HELL_ was going on? Jimmy wanted to scream and drag his friends away from this. This was insane. This was—not right. He looked desperately between the other four, but none of them looked back. They were all looking at Rorschach, waiting for his own reply. Had all of them gone insane in the course of an hour? !

Her friends sent Tamila pained looks for her comment, but Rorschach didn't seem insulted, or at least outwardly. He just stood there, staring at them (who in particular, they could never tell easily). He was always unnaturally quiet. Audrey stood her ground, waiting. Rorschach's mask changed all the time, but slowly and barely a change worth noting.

"Time's up," he said finally, his gravelly voice like nails on glass. _His_ time, Jimmy assumed he was referring to.

Audrey drew back, pained. "Please," she said again. "There's always time for heroes. This world…still needs people like you… _us_. We're not ready, though."

Jimmy didn't know why she was saying that. They had been ready just moments before, fighting crooks, saving the day. They hadn't needed Rorschach until—

Until…

Veidt.

Something cold, akin to realization, settled in his gut. Oh. He abruptly understood where the need had come from in Audrey and the others.

Rorschach's head tilted just slightly and the inkblots moved like water. "Not hopeless," he said.

Hesitating, Audrey stopped speaking out of surprise. Jimmy, nearly parallel to Rorschach, glanced between the two people, frowning.

"The situation…or us?" asked Jimmy, confused, heart racing.

"Don't need assistance," he replied, turning his head toward the boy. The inkblots moved again; it was more alive that its wearer.

Audrey made a choked sound, growing agitated. "I want to save this city," she said, adamant. "You loved…you loved this city. Your journal told the whole story. You wanted to save it and get rid of the scum that poisoned it. We want that, too!"

Rorschach just stood there, nonplussed. Sighing, Jimmy turned to speak, but Audrey had drawn herself up, chest puffed out, eyes shining.

"I want to bring people like Veidt to justice," she said, her voice wavering, but her eyes burning.

Jimmy had gone to tell her to cool it, but something caught his eye. Turning back around, Jimmy watched Rorschach. While his posture had remained like that of a statue, unmoving, his mask was abruptly…alive. Spinning. Reacting with heat, perhaps. Reacting with emotion.

Rorschach was reacting.

**0000**

He never put much thought into tomorrow. It was always _now_ , in the present, the current world. He never bothered to concern himself over the what-ifs and maybes. His choices were always direct and permanent. There had been no room for hesitation.

The first time he had ever thought ahead of today was the day he died. He knew compromise was out of the question; that's why he told Jon to kill him.

But Jon _hadn't_ killed him. Why? And why send him to a future where it was too late to fix the wrongs Veidt had done? What was the point in all this? He had spent days and nights agonizing over this question. Why? _**Why**_?

Rorschach watched from behind his mask the faces of the five _kids_ in front of him. They stared back, watching him with wary and desperate looks of their own. They thought they need him. To do what, he couldn't fathom.

He had followed them to their drug bust and watched for a while. He took in their moves, their behaviors. They acted as a unit. Admirable, but useless. Not because their punches weren't work, though. It was useless for a different reason.

These kids…they were too young, too spoiled. They were, too, infected by the mass media and commercialism that had corrupted the rest of their world. They believed crime to be a mess easily swept up and wiped away. They were so naïve.

But they had the power. He had seen it himself. They could fight the low lives that sucked the very life from the city's innards. Maybe not up to Veidt's level, but enough for the common scum. In time, they could be who he and his own allies had become before their downfall—a symbol of justice in an unjust world. Their cause wasn't hopeless. The original Minutemen had started without any mentors or teachers. These new children had no need for him.

But his purpose here…

It was too coincidental that he would arrive at the moment in time where a new Crimebusters was forming and Veidt's world was starting to show signs of crumbling. It was too perfect. Too ordered.

…Jon had _known_.

And had sent him here.

Destiny, divine intervention—they were all possible. Fate, fate had drawn him here, to this new world, where crime was just budding once more. Jon had sent him with a fight already in his heart only to meet five perfectly untouched figures that he could mold to the degrees he needed. Jon's powers enabled him with untold knowledge. The idea…was not impossible.

Rorschach was the last of the masks, as far as he was concerned. They had already been going extinct in 1985. But now, now they were returning. So young, so disorganized…but they were coming back.

Veidt was still free and the world was still suffering, only this time, in ignorance. Rorschach would not let the old ways die with him. He was the only one left. He had a responsibility to find a way to pass on the traditions of what they had all once fought and been willing to die for.

And now he had these untouched minds, willing bodies and hearts, completely at his fingertips.

He could train them, teach them what they already did not know. Send them to fight the loathsome scum that still clung to life in the sewers and gutters. He could clean up the streets, just like in the old days. He could deliver vengeance to Veidt with an army of his own.

This could _work_.

**0000**

"Alright."

The voice seemed startling after that moment of silence. Audrey made a choked sound and drew back. Cesar and Jimmy opened their mouths to speak, but no words came. Tamila and Markus exchanged wary glances before looking back at Rorschach who stood as still as a statue.

"What?" asked Audrey finally, her voice like crackling thunder over the emptiness of the lobby. Jimmy felt his mind stumble.

Rorschach's head moved slightly toward her. "Training," he said shortly. His voice exposed no emotion.

For a moment, no one seemed to get it.

Tamila shifted, wary but also a tad hopeful. "Just…just like that?" she asked, her voice wavering.

Rorschach said nothing in reply, but that meant nothing negative either.

Jimmy stood there, knowing he was gaping with his mouth like a fish, but he didn't care. Did—did this actually just—

Audrey stood there, breathless. Jimmy had never seen her so… happy.

"Thank you," she said, hope and excitement shining in her face and eyes. She smiled in awe. " _Thank you_! You won't regret this!"

If he had the sense to shrug, Rorschach probably would have then. Instead, he just tilted his head, watching. Perhaps he was amused by their reactions. Jimmy was still struggling with the concept of standing upright.

"Wh-when?" Audrey asked, glancing back at her friends. She caught Jimmy's eye and smiled even more. Jimmy tried to smile back.

Rorschach did shrug that time. Audrey didn't seem to care. She grinned at her friends and exhaled, as if she had been holding back all of her emotions inside her like a dam. Jimmy wanted to be happy she was happy, but everything seemed to be moving far too fast. He couldn't keep up.

They were going to be training with Rorschach. More than that, they were training with one of the original masks. One of the real Crimebusters— _Rorschach_.

Oh, wow. Jimmy couldn't stop a grin of his own from appearing on his face. The need for a clear-head or no… this was amazing.

After the initial shock wore off, Cesar all but crowed. "Alright!" he cried, grinning. He high-fived Markus loudly and nodded excitedly at Rorschach. "When do we start, boss man?" He twirled a pistol in his hand, cocky.

Rorschach's mask made no change. "No guns," he rasped.

Cesar wilted. Jimmy grinned and tilted his head back.

They were headed down the rabbit hole—and even if they regretted it later, the momentary sense of adrenaline and success was worth it. A laugh tore from his throat as the others made plans.

_Here goes nothing._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Welcome to Camp Rorschach. AKA Hell.
> 
>  
> 
> A/Ns  
> -Rorschach is an extremist; I can't see him viewing molding these kids into his own extensions that appalling. He's in a dire situation and needs the assistance. I think he'd go to this level.  
> -"No guns" because guns aren't for people who actually know how to fight; according to Rorschy anyway


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dub this chapter, "Surviving Rorschach." XD This is my favorite chapter, ever. Enjoy.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

* * *

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

For two weeks, she'd have the place to herself, thanks to a martial arts competition that had called for her parents to be away. It was a good time for it happen, honestly. She had never had to worry about houseguests before, other than Tamila on occasion. But this week was very different than others.

The first morning, there was no indication anywhere in the Jackson apartment that a masked vigilante was lurking around. Audrey walked into the kitchen and only found a dirty spoon in the sink and an empty can of bake beans in the recycling bin.

For some reason, the thought of the black and white faced man recycling was hysterical to Audrey.

She knew he was stopping by from small signs—the couch cushions pushed out slightly, muddy footprints by the windows (God-forbid the man used the _door_ ), and that rank odor he emitted hung to the air sometimes. She doubted her mother would appreciate the scent of sewers and other unmentionable garbage in her home, but Audrey had more pressing matters to look to. She had a group of Crimebusters to maneuver and an ex-member to bring around. The latter was much easier than she had been expecting.

True to his word, Rorschach returned to the empty warehouse they had chosen every Tuesday and Thursday night. He was often more on time than the others—and he didn't like to wait around, it seemed. His style was strange to the ones who had been formally trained for martial arts most of their lives. It was, however, effective.

His students had requested that he first teach them what he knew of fighting crooks—the physical part, anyway. They all had at least some background in disciplined hand-to-hand combat, especially Audrey and Markus, who had been raised on them by relatives and carried black belts in varying degrees. However, there was a difference between the streets and a classroom. Rorschach was the expert in that area.

Rorschach was a vicious and ruthless teacher. He didn't pull his punches and didn't mind sending even Tamila or Audrey flat while sparring. He had no background in any martial arts studies, but seemed to have a combination of street fighting and boxing—something that pleased Markus. In fact, the only one who seemed to be able to keep up to Rorschach's speed and strength was Markus, which he gloated over. Cesar was a close runner-up, but without his guns, the only thing he had over Rorschach was his speed. That didn't always add up to a man who could turn a trashcan lid into a lethal projectile.

Tamila and Audrey both studied kickboxing, but apparently, Rorschach didn't approve. He wanted them to branch out into actual boxing because they couldn't just rely on their legs in a fight, smaller bodies or not. They had to find other ways to knock a man down rather than only using their lower body strength. No kicking limited their abilities to an extent due to their smaller statures, but both swore they would beat him someday. He wasn't that impressed by their threats and constantly told them, "need to be better."

Jimmy was the only one who limited his one-on-one time with Rorschach to mere tactical tutoring and, often, simple disarming and self-defense techniques.

"You already don't have a lot of hand-to-hand combat skills," complained Cesar after Rorschach left, without a word as usual. "This guy is the shit, man. You can learn all the stuff you missed out on before."

"We should stick to what we're good at," replied Jimmy, frowning.

Cesar snorted. "Yeah. Stick to the books, _inútil_."

Jimmy scowled at him, but Audrey was the one who came over and jabbed her finger into Cesar's chest. "The next time this _useless_ guy saves your life, be sure to thank him," she snapped. Her bruised lip, victim of a surprise jab to the face by a gloved hand, made her look even angrier. "We all got something to work with. That's why we're a team. We compliment each other."

Cesar couldn't argue with that and while Jimmy felt a bit annoyed that Audrey had come to his rescue, he was happy to agree with her logic. Teamwork was a necessity. Jimmy was the brains and technical support and the others put to use what he came up with. That's how it was going to work and it seemed just fine.

Rorschach never made a comment about how their group functioned, other than mild remarks about their individual faults—Audrey put too much faith in the tools and shock gloves they had built for her, Jimmy needed more bulk, Tamila needed to work on remaining calm during a fight, Markus was relying too much on his pure strength, and Cesar should have focused more on physical strength as well as his weapons. They took his advice willingly and did their best to adapt to his specifications. Tamila grouched about how they were taking all of what he said for granted, but the others had a good point: Rorschach was the last of the old world, and if they wanted to make this theirs, they had to take all the help they could get.

When Audrey went home at nights, Rorschach was never there. She went to bed, knowing he was somewhere, loose on the streets, wreaking havoc on some unsuspecting crook. That thought lulled her to a sound sleep.

In the morning, he was already gone, if he ever rested at all.

**00000**

On the sixth day, Audrey walked into her kitchen and nearly screamed.

Sitting at the small round table in the eat-in was Rorschach. In front of him was the most massive pile of pancakes she had ever seen in one sitting. Standing in the doorway, Audrey stared at the back of the vigilante's head and then over at the stove, where he had apparently commandeered her mother's frying pan and pancake mix.

For some reason, that was mildly disturbing to her.

"Morning," she said finally, walking closer, warily moving around the table and the still-masked man. She eyed him as if uncertain he would leap up to attack.

Rorschach, as usual, was not a talkative person. He continued eating without even turning to acknowledge her. It was then Audrey noticed that the bottom of his mask was up, just up to his nose, as he ate. He was a rather messy eater, shoving barely cut pancake into his mouth at breakneck speed.

Audrey frowned, but knew he undoubtedly needed it. The only thing she had ever somewhat-seen him eat were canned beans. It was reassuring to see him eating something else, but hey, the man survived a twenty-year trip to the future. He probably could take care of himself just fine.

Stopping opposite of him, Audrey continued to watch him eat, knowing the staring wouldn't bother him. He wasn't like that. Audrey wasn't used to quiet guys. Even Jimmy was more talkative than this guy. Rorschach wasn't an open book. He was like the sealed diary, full of secrets; tempting to read, but locked up tight.

She glanced down at the pile of pancakes that was slowly disappearing. She couldn't help but smile just slightly. If the journal was right, even if she didn't know its climatic end, she had a feeling Rorschach deserved every chance to relax and be content as possible. He was rarely human and none of them understood him completely, but they obviously shared the basics. Like hunger.

Standing there, Audrey felt her stomach growl lowly, and suddenly, she realized she was hungry herself. Looking up at Rorschach and then back at the pancakes, another smile dared to appear on her lips. Somehow, she had a feeling he hadn't cooked to share. With a small sigh, she pushed away from the table, turning.

" _Bon appetite_ ," she said, smirking as she grabbed the pan and the near-empty box of mix to make herself some.

**00000**

He didn't remember how he learned to fight, if he had ever learned at all. He knew the first day he had to, with those two bullies when he was ten, but he couldn't recall when he had learnt how. It was almost instinctual. Throwing punches, ducking, stabbing, breaking bones—all of it came to him like breathing. It was so natural.

So impossible to teach. He had no idea if what he was doing was going to do any good. These kids, they had already received formal training. They could fight. There was room for improvement in their styles and overall movements, but that came with age and experience. They were off to a good start—or as good as a start as Rorschach could tell. He didn't know anything about teaching.

The time to teach them what he did want them to know—Veidt, his plans, what the world was facing now—had to wait until he gained their trust enough and gave them enough of what they wanted: physical training. He'd have his time to cultivate the skills they really possessed: their youth and fire. He could do better what he and the others had attempted to do. There was a new playing field, sure, but they had time. They could do this right.

So, he made up the rules as they went, teaching them as he could.

_Know what makes you hurt. Makes you angry. Use that as fuel to the fire._

It was the dark-haired leader, Audrey, who yearned the most for justice, though he didn't know exactly why. She hated the scum of the earth, loathing criminals, and the abuse of justice. All Rorschach had to do was take her around the city to show her crimes being done onto the innocent—and make her watch. Nothing made her angrier. She'd stand there, shaking, physically held back by her teacher, foul curses falling from her lips.

Then, Rorschach would set her loose onto the thugs. Their screams mingled with Audrey's own, hers full of rage. She was no mad dog, but Rorschach knew she was still sheltered. She still had the bitter taste of coddled love and materialism clinging to her thoughts. She had to see the other side as it was. A terrible process, but it gained the effect Rorschach desired: Audrey always came back for more.

The dark skinned one was just as easy, if not easier, to incite into a violent rage. She was the most dangerous one, Rorschach could tell, if prodded the wrong way. The loose canon, opposite of the Hollis boy. Tamila was the final spark that could set a well-thought plan up in flames. She had grown up in the world of sin, unlike most of her friends. She had been the one to witness the crimes and sins of this ignorant society her entire life. There was little Rorschach could do or say to make it more vibrant, her anger. He had to focus on toning it down, if anything. Making her understand that keeping a cool head was just as important as being fired up was difficult. If she ever over-reacted during a fight or during practice, he'd send her sprawling a reminder. She was a quick learner, if anything.

It didn't hurt to send her on her own nightly crusade, however, just to keep her fresh.

Markus was the body-builder. He reminded Rorschach of the Comedian only in the sense that brawn served as his main offense. His inner fire came from self-witness as well. His father, Rorschach learned, was quite like the scum on the streets they took down. A convicted murderer and supposed rapist, Mr. Bennett was locked away in new Sing Sing for the next forty years. Every time Markus saw another crook, another felon preying on the innocent, he was reminded of his father and the sins that could so easily have become his. That was his fire and his motivation—to avoid becoming like his own father.

All it took to get him off and running was a reminder of that. One night, all Rorschach did was hold a mirror taken from Tamila in front of the younger man and said, "Prove it." Without another word, Markus went out and not only located three rapes in progress, but stopped them, alerted the police, and got the victims to the attentions of the medics.

Yes, that one had potential.

The Mexican boy also reminded Rorschach of the Comedian. The reason was obvious: both loved their guns. Where Cesar got his weapons, Rorschach didn't care to know. He knew how to use them that was for sure. But unlike the Comedian, Cesar wasn't in this for the blood. He didn't explain why he was there, other than, "he was sick of it all" like the others. He was like Tamila; he had grown up on these miserable streets, suffering the sickness that plagued the minorities most often. That served as his initiative.

Upon investigating the young man further, Rorschach learned he had an older sister named Iyana who had been gang raped by a local but ruthless street gang. The police had not been able to prove anything, however, and thanks to Veidt's ignorance policy, the men got away with it silently. The first night he had alone with Cesar for training, he sent the boy after members of the same gang without telling him who he was after. About an hour later, Cesar returned to where Rorschach was waiting, covered in blood, and demanding to know if calling the police for clean up was part of their job as well.

The last was the weakest; Daniel's child was the weak link in the chain. He had little body strength, but perhaps enough to handle minor encounters. His parents' had been well-trained, lethal fighters, but their combined skills apparently had not been bestowed upon their offspring. James' real talent lied within his mind. He had inherited his father's intelligence and knack for inventing. Even still, Nite Hawk had strength and fought equally with his fists as well as his tools. Archie was unavailable to them, so their resources were limited to any weapon that could help James fight. In a melee fight, he might have had a chance.

The only reason Rorschach had hope in the boy for was his other skill: tactics. He was an expert organizer, able to get everyone into position almost soundlessly with inner-ear walkie-talkies he had developed. Despite his outwardly nervous and awkward nature, the boy was calm and cool on the street. He had true power within the group that the others didn't see; he controlled their movements better than they could with their own physical strength. Rorschach knew that while in the old days, the members of Crimebusters had to rely on themselves foremost, but with this new "team" mentality that these kids had, perhaps James' position wasn't that much of an issue.

They had time to fix him up for hand-to-hand combat. For now, Rorschach took what he could get; a mind should never be wasted, after all, especially a young, powerful one.

_There's a monster inside you. That's where power comes from. The ordinary let the monster abuse them, but you, you can use that to your own advantage._

Individually, they posed risks to themselves still. As a unit, they were a nearly indomitable force. The five could take on a group two times their size in numbers and leave with few scrapes, in any. They complimented each other. Rorschach had begun to set them up in partnerships, as he and the original Crimebusters had done, but it proved essentially pointless at the current time. Besides the uneven amount of members, they did not possess enough individual power to be matched up just yet. That could come later. For now, they were best suited as a unit of five.

Without question, Tamila and Markus were their physical frontrunners. Tamila relied on her kickboxing and street fighting techniques to have an edge over the common crook. If her opponents were larger, she relied on her "best friend"—a steel baton. Her aim was extraordinarily good. Markus plowed down the opposition on any playing field and his muscles rarely let him down.

Audrey was unparalleled when it came to surprise attacks. All they had to do was cut the power to the lights in a drug-den and she would send in her remote strobe lights or "RSLs" that Jimmy had built for her—and then attack. She had chosen her name well. The distorted lighting and dizzying flashes enabled her to overcome innumerable opponents. With the goggles James had made for her, she alone was able to move in the flashing lights. In a street fight or bright area, she had to rely solely on her strength and studies in martial arts. Even there, she remained a force to contend with. Her singular and precise attacks on the human body were intriguing.

She and James shared the bulk of the leadership responsibilities. James handled tactics, but it was Audrey who kept the others moving. Her spirit kept the others' up. If any of them ever began to doubt themselves or their mission, she would rally them up again. Her speeches were moving; Rorschach could see a Veidt in her. Luckily for her and the world, he was there to make sure another Veidt never appeared. He kept her ideals grounded in the real reality, the black and white one.

The other one who did their best outside of a free-for-all alley fight was Cesar, who could snipe as well as use multiple firearms. He wasn't too shabby in a close fight either, Rorschach had to admit. He had adapted the Asian martial arts of Iaido to his guns—being able to fire, reload and holster within just seconds. It was a useful talent.

All five of them had been preparing for this for years after they had gotten the idea of uniting. Some of them had had martial arts training their entire lives. They had a long way to go, but were off to a good start.

Every fight reminded each one what they had to face and why they were needed. The pained grimaces they wore when they were left with the victims of crimes were enough for Rorschach to know they were reminded quite well. Every bruise and every injury they received from him or thug was a reminder. Every dream, every nightmare—they would not forget what they were fighting for.

And every time he sent them out on some task or another, their resolve grew stronger and stronger.

_Show no fear. Make those before you tremble._

The first time Audrey faced a man with a gun straight on, she fell back and stared up at the gun barrel in instinctual fear. Her momentum lost, her strength gone.

Her companions were at her side within moments, smashing the gun away and shattering the offender's arm in three places. Audrey was back on her feet, but her edge was gone. The fight was won and they all went home.

Except for Audrey.

Outside of the warehouse, Rorschach told her to stand in the center of the alleyway and to remain still. Without another word, he fired the same gun thirteen times at her head—the bullets _whishing_ by her skull, sending her hair fluttering with only a scarce inch to spare. She almost fell back at first, but he told her that if she moved, she might be struck dead.

She stayed perfectly still, wide-eyed, crying silently, but straight as a board until he had unloaded the rest of the clip.

Rorschach wordlessly dismantled the gun and threw it in a dumpster on his way out of the alley. Audrey went inside and then headed home.

The next time a gun was shoved into her face, Audrey ripped it from its owner's hand, broke their wrist, and blew their ear off with it.

_But whatever you do—_

_Don't let the monster get a hold of you first._

There was more than one time he had to grab the wrist of the most violent of them, hold them back and stop them from delivering an unknowing lethal blow to one of their own comrades during practice or even a criminal during a real fight. The offender would look up in shock, unsure of why he stopped them. Rorschach said nothing; only yanked them away and told them to do it over again.

He had seen it in his own time; they didn't know their own strength. Their abilities blinded them to the amount of power they possessed. They had to learn to appreciate it and know when to stop. He couldn't remember how many times that his partner had had to pull him aside to stop a potential kill. That kind of restraint was too soft for him, but it was best to start off soft with these kids.

That was the one thing he couldn't teach them; that was something they'd have to find out on their own. It was the dark side to this life, one that Sally Jupiter had tried to keep even her daughter away from and failed. They would someday kill. There was no escaping it. These kids would know soon enough. And nothing turned off a newcomer to this field like death.

But he had to postpone it for as long as possible. He needed them. He couldn't have them running away just yet.

The training would resume and he'd stand, watching.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: The world goes to hell and Rorschach reminds the kids that he's fucking insane.
> 
>  
> 
> A/Ns  
> -This is actually the only chapter I feel that I did Rorschach justice. I'm terrible with keeping characters as intense as Rorschach in-character. D: Please tell me you guys feel the same?  
> -Inútil is Spanish for "useless"  
> -No, none of the kids have ever killed before on the streets, not even Cesar's revenge attack.


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Veidt's promises of peace begin to waver and Rorschach reminds the kids why he's known as "batshit crazy."
> 
> Politics and social theory time, kids! So exciting. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Warnings & Disclaimers

* * *

"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways."  
-Buddha

* * *

On November 21st, a well-planned bombing of the American embassy inside of Kabul sent the American army scrambling. On November 22nd, Adrian Viedt woke up to his aide informing him they were at war.

It was not a sudden thing, not really. Veidt had been watching with moderate unease for the last decade or so as his policies fought hard to combat the general disapproval the Afghans had for having the Soviets or Americans involved in their social policies. The attempts to reconstruct the backwards political system there had failed in the end.

They had done their best, though Veidt had stepped back when he had stepped down from office. He had never expected the terrorist cells there to actually reach this level of sophisticated warfare. They had taken over the government and the local military had sided with them. Veidt personally blamed the recent Soviet idea of lessening outside military support for the lack of higher ups who could have prevented the loss of the military control.

The terrorist cells refused to die out, no matter how much supposed cracking down the Afghanistan government claimed to have been doing. Veidt had done his best to stay uninvolved lately, only interceding when absolutely necessary, because the people there disliked his presence. One thing led to another, and with the overthrow of the temporary democratic council, the Afghan people had apparently sided as a whole with the terrorist regime to remove the Western presence within their country.

They didn't understand, the people who revolted there. They did not see the larger picture. Veidt had spent years helping his own people understand it—how could they ever find the peace, the time and the energy to devote to their internal communities if they didn't first achieve a world society that worked together, not against each other? He could appreciate their culture; he did appreciate it. But using it as a shield of ignorance would get them no where.

So, the ending of all of this hadn't surprised Veidt. He had wished for it to be avoided, but in the end… his wishes were ignored.

He would find a way to rectify this. He was no longer a politician, but he was more than willing to offer his diplomatic services to the American government, or any, in the name of peace.

"Rachel, please arrange a flight to Moscow for tomorrow morning," he said to his secretary as he walked into his office, fresh from a phone call with his contacts overseas. The Soviets had agreed to help end the conflict. If they could only neutralize the terrorist cell, they could dampen the rebellious energy that was beginning to infect the Arab region.

"Sir," the man across from him began, ignoring how the secretary had to lean around him to reach the computer to do so, "what about the New York case?"

Veidt stopped and glanced at his companion. Rorschach was an issue, but compared to the threat of a war, he was nothing.

"If he's waited twenty years, he can wait a few more days, Mr. Bateman," Veidt replied calmly. He waved his hand. "I have more important issues to worry about."

The conflict came first. He gave it two weeks; the Americans and their allies could sweep this mess under the table. A war in such a place for such pitiful reasons could ever hope to last.

Bateman flicked a paperclip into the mug on the corner of the desk before standing to leave.

**0000**

War. What an interesting, terrifying concept, according to the media. Growing up, they had been told it was gone, forever, because of what Adrian Veidt had done for politics, for the world. Now, James said, he easily could see how it was more like what Adrian Veidt had _ruined_ for politics. The Middle East had been the last recognized resisting presence on Earth to the Veidt-ism craze. Now, finally, that resentment had boiled over.

For his part, Rorschach was glad. Chaos for Veidt on any level distracted him; it made him weaker. Getting close to the man would require every bit of stealth Rorschach could afford. Plus, having more strife in the air would give the world more reason to distrust Veidt. One measly war would not undo the two decades of damage Veidt had caused.

What struck Rorschach the most had been the apparent disregard the children had for the war entirely. They didn't watch the news with the fear their peers seemed to have toward the situation. They observed with quieted disapproval and wry understanding that made Rorschach increase his opinion of their intelligence.

"I've been reading up on Jacobs' stuff again," the Hollis boy said, cheerfully wrapping a sprained ankle as they changed from their costumes back to street clothing at their warehouse base of operations. "She's right about the infrastructure of major cities being impacted by the loss of diversity. I mean, all Veidt has to do is look back at city statistics and he'd see it himself."

Tamila scoffed as she put her sneakers on. "Yeah, well, don't expect that asshole to actually look at the cities he's helping," she snapped. "Bitch might have money and power, but that don't fix things for real. He doesn't get it. No one in Washington or City Hall does. They just like lookin' at pretty sidewalks and callin' it a day."

"But look at the mess in Afghanistan," Jimmy continued, waving his hand. "It's the same thing, at a larger scale. He's underestimating just how important it is to keep track of minor details, like culture and the structures already in place that already work. He wanted to 'fix' things like he had in New York, and instead of taking it in stride like we did here, the Afghans are shoving it back at us."

"Good for them," Markus said, shaking his head. Cesar hummed in agreement. Silently watching instead of leaving immediately as he usually did, Rorschach felt immensely pleased.

They weren't like Veidt. They had potential. They were still vacant enough in their ideals that he could still stamp out any remaining strain of that consuming cancer that Veidt had infected the rest of the world with.

He kept his eyes on Veidt's movement. He was schedule to arrive in New York on December 17th. It was fast approaching, but Rorschach didn't know if that was a good thing or not. He craved for the chance to end his silence. The longer he took to get closer to his enemy, the longer the world suffered in its ignorance.

But Veidt wasn't stupid. He knew Rorschach was out there now, with those cheaply augmented assassins as proof. He'd be waiting, prepared, during the visitation.

Rorschach kept planning. He kept honing his only weapons until they shone. They would be his only way to get through to Veidt.

Watching them rip down crooks and send blood spattering across his coat, Rorschach found reasons to consider his decision a success in more ways than just his ultimate goal, however.

They would be perfect, regardless.

**0000**

Jimmy couldn't make it that night. He had spent enough nights away from home and had to fix his cover image. Blitzkrieg didn't think it mattered; they all deserved breaks now and again. They went out nearly every night, either in teams of two or four, Rorschach trailing them like a shadow. It was always unnerving knowing he was there, but when the going got rough, everyone had to admit having him around was a godsend.

Like when Dark Squall's potential lead to a small time dealer's club led them straight into an opium den. None of them had been expecting facing nearly thirteen men exiting the club's dingy back entrance, but Blitzkrieg was grimly satisfied that they were ready for the challenge regardless.

Blitzkrieg covered for Coyote, who made for the fire escape immediately to get better coverage of the area. Three of the men immediately ran when they saw the surprised group of vigilantes, but the remaining dealers did not share their sense of self-preservation. More than one went for guns, but the closest ones had no hope of reaching for weapons as the Crimebusters fell upon them.

Their training had made them so much faster, even after only a few weeks. Gestalt moved like a shadow, packing a punch of someone that didn't fit her smaller size. As she wrecked bones and cracked more than a few jaws on the cement, Dark Squall also wreaked unholy hell on the dealers who chose to fight. Her baton sang in the air and when one blow shattered a tibia, she whirled around to kick the man straight into the dumpster with a loud clang.

For himself, Blitzkrieg was more focused than ever. He was grateful for all the lessons in patience as he met his opponents and broke them down. There was less blood, but quicker results.

Behind him, he heard more screams from the men who had foolishly darted behind him with lead pipes and whatever else they had found lying around. They had thought he was the rearguard.

They had a much more fearsome rearguard than merely the muscle man, Blitzkrieg thought in dark amusement.

Rorschach had apparently come out of the shadows to break into the men in front of him. They had never saw him coming, but once he had started to almost-not-figuratively tear into one, they realized he was there.

"It's the pyscho!" one of them shouted, in vain. He choked when Rorschach's hands found his throat.

Those images only coming in short spurts as Blitzkrieg had to focus on his own fighting, he almost missed Rorschach getting swarmed. It wasn't like there was any danger in that. They had all stopped rushing in to help him if that ever happened, since he always proved that he never need the assistance.

But with just a blur of steel to catch his attention, Blitzkrieg froze after beating down one of the last men standing. He immediately stared down the distance between him and Rorschach's position, just as one of the men he had thought was down for good stumbled with a swinging arm attached to a rusted drainage pipe right toward the distracted Rorschach.

Blitzkrieg tried to yell out in warning, but his cry was overshadowed by the sound of metal meeting flesh when the thug's weapon landed solidly into Rorschach's masked face. The smaller vigilante dropped hard and Blitzkrieg lunged to beat his attacker down, breaking the man's arm.

 _Oh, crap_ , Blitzkrieg thought once he realized the alley was nearly cleared. He spun on his heels and ran toward Rorschach's prone form.

"Holy shit!" Dark Squall yelled, jaw dropped. "Is he okay? !"

Gestalt slammed the last remaining man down; his head hit the asphalt so hard, he bounced. Whirling, she rushed back over to where Dark Squall and Blitzkrieg had already swarmed. Rorschach was on the ground and wasn't moving.

"Don't touch him," Gestalt began, out of breath. "He could have a cranial injury."

"He probably does," Blitzkrieg muttered. He crouched and couldn't tell if the other man was breathing through his black-and-white mask.

Dark Squall had also crouched, but instead of waiting around, she grabbed the bottom of Rorschach's mask. It made sense she would act so fast, considering she was more than often their impromptu medic on the field, one of the only ones in their group with real first aid training. Sometimes every minute counted for an injury, especially one to the head.

However, just as Dark Squall managed to bring the mask roughly over Rorschach's nose, revealing half of a stubbled, gaunt face, Gestalt had begun to speak up again, this time more sharply. Whatever she said was ignored, because at the same moment Blitzkrieg and Dark Squall could both see Rorschach was breathing, a gloved hand reached up and seized Dark Squall's wrist.

It happened fast.

Dark Squall was physically thrown up and over Rorschach when the short man slammed his shorter legs straight up into her abdomen. He hadn't let go of her wrist either, so she hit the ground hard with her arm being held back. He used it to yank her back, still on the ground windless, and punch her in the face.

"WHOA!" Cesar shouted, far above them on the fire escape, exposing his position. "Stop that crazy motherfucker!"

Blitzkrieg didn't need the suggestion. He slammed his own fist into Rorschach's face, sending the smaller man rolling backwards, away from Dark Squall, who was sputtering and trying to get up. Rorschach immediately was on his feet, breathing heavily, and he shoved his mask down, covering a bloody mouth with haste.

"You crazy little bitch!" Dark Squall screamed, hand on her face. "What the fuck was that for? !"

Gestalt had also moved forward between them all, as if ready to stop a full out brawl. "Stop," she ordered, looking directly at Rorschach. "That was completely unnecessary. We were trying to help."

Well, it wasn't like they were expecting an apology. Blitzkrieg tensed up as Rorschach edged away from them, black swirls even more vibrant than normal. Suddenly, the thrill of the fight was replaced with an air that vibrated with nervousness and aggression. It reminded Blitzkrieg of the first time they had fought Rorschach—and lost.

Suddenly, they had taken five steps back, even after all of their training.

"Get the hell out of here," Gestalt said to Rorschach without showing any emotion.

Rorschach stared at her. And then, without pausing, he left. They all watched him leave. The only sound left was the distant city noises and the sound of Coyote clambering down the fire escape nearby. Their need for stealth was replaced by the sudden need to regroup and understand what the hell just happened.

"What the _FUCK_ was that? !" Dark Squall demanded shrilly, spinning to face Gestalt. Blitzkrieg was happy to see she was alright, despite the blood running from her nose. "Is he crazy? !"

Well. That should have been rhetorical. "Yeah," Gestalt replied. She kept her eyes on the end of the alleyway with a strange expression, as if watching for the unhinged vigilante to suddenly pop back up.

Blitzkrieg released the tight fists he hadn't noticed he had made. At first pleased by their performance during the fight, now he felt sick. He wasn't sure why.

"Don't touch his mask," Gestalt said simply, voice cold, glancing between them all. Blitzkrieg looked back at her, but she turned and started back to leave their calling card on the downed men.

" _Hijoputa_ ," Coyote snarled as he stomped toward them.

Dark Squall stared down the alleyway, breathing heavily. They listened in vain for any sounds of the other man. Blitzkrieg looked through the haze and felt a shiver of disappoint course through him.

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter features Story Time With Rorschach—and a lot of failed plans.
> 
> A/Ns:  
> -Jacobs, Jane. Author of many books and essays criticizing modern city planning, especially restoration efforts, which she claims ruins major cities instead of helping them. Veidt's problem is that he tries to make things look nice without truly understanding the underlying infrastructure of the community living in a specific neighborhood.  
> -I had fun juxtaposing Veidt and Rorschach's (as well as the kids') viewpoints on how to "fix" the problems in the world. Both have their merits and both miss some of the more ugly parts of their personal philosophies on how people should tackle crime and the negatives in society. ;)  
> -For further clarification: the reason Afghanistan and other Arab countries in this story are resisting any kind of globalization efforts is because Veidt is simultaneously bringing in a lot of Westernization, even if they aren't occupying those countries physically. The resistance groups still view such occupying as offensive and a reason to rebel to preserve their own well-being.  
> -"A war in such a place…could ever hope to last." LOL YOU THINK THAT, VEIDT? We unfortunately know better in reality…


End file.
